The Passion of Predators
by MorayEel
Summary: It is not easy surviving in the ice domain in the deep north of Unova, even if you're a Sneasel or Weavile. This is especially true if you're the center of abuse from your peers, or if you are a new hunter from warmer climates seeking to establish your career. Such harsh environments bring hardships, and with them, bring accomplishments. Rated M for graphic violence and sex acts.
1. Chapter 1: Another Night

The Passion of Predators

 **[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I highly recommend listening to some music as you read this for the best experience. Specifically, "The Outlaw's Return" from Red Dead Redemption, or the soundtrack from the Crystal Mine level from Gauntlet Dark Legacy. Even one of those ten-hour long ambient winter sound videos will do, but those are my strongest recommendations!]**

 _[UNOVA EXTENDED FIELD RESEARCH POK_ _éDEX ENTRY 416:WEAVILE: BEGIN]_

Weavile are social and intelligent Pokémon that are top predators of snowy biomes. Sneasel of both genders start off with a teal-colored coat. Males transition to a dark slate-colored coat while female Sneasel transition into a dark indigo coat. Sneasel also have two claws at the end of each limb and acquire three when they become Weavile. The golden "coin" is actually a deposit of keratin and several key minerals for building their nails, fur, and feathers; Weavile and Sneasel with healthy claws and coats typically have much more bold and shiny reservoirs. Their bodies will only tap into it during periods of malnutrition, which will cause it to shrink and dull. Weavile sport a crown of red feathers as they mature and train, which may play a large part of deciding hierarchy or mating partners.

These Pokémon generally form small packs of about five members, but larger packs are known to have form occasionally. Extended packs, or tribes, are less nomadic and relocate less often compared to standard, smaller packs. Introvert Weavile are less common to find compared to social Weavile packs. Anecdotal evidence shows that they may be on average more dangerous than an extrovert. This area requires more research before a definitive conclusion can be made. Infighting is common among larger packs and can cripple the long-term survivability of the pack.

There are two methods of Weavile pack hunting: pack hunting and skirmishes. Pack hunting is where all members hunt; this is much more common the five-Weavile packs. A skirmish is typically a solo hunt, though sometimes involves a couple more Sharp Claw Pokémon. Skirmish hunting is more common in extended packs and tribes, where the extra numbers favorite more diverse and sparse hunting coalitions for covering more ground. Different Weavile packs can be profoundly hostile against each other.

In either case the hunting party employs a large variety of strategies to take down prey: Flanking, full-force charges, and stealth are a few tactics. The strategies can be broken down even further by attacking only using their sharp claws or the bitter cold. A hunting party typically uses a combination of these methods to bring down any prey. Smaller packs tend to feed on the site of a successful group kill, while extended packs will either laboriously haul the carcass to the others, or send one Pokémon back to lead the rest of the pack to the carcass, while the others stay behind to feed and keep guard.

Sharp Claw Pokémon are omnivorous, though most diets tend to be about sixty-five percent carnivorous and thirty-five percent herbivorous. Sneasel shift more towards being carnivorous as they develop into Weavile. They are not picky eaters and will forage on anything to survive. Sneasel and Weavile alike have been shown to openly consume any type of meat, from standard prey- Pokémon meat to exotic, unusual meat, such as that of Kabutops, Scyther, and even Wailord, from multiple studies. Sharp Claw Pokémon bodies are incapable of grazing, but will happily eat a variety of berries in addition to meat. In general, they will typically consume any food as long as it is not heavily rotted or contaminated.

It is interesting to note that Weavile and Sneasel are some of the few Pokémon known for deliberately killing for sport and entertainment; some sources even document trophies being taken and kept by them. There may be links between Sharp Claw Pokémon that are introverted, alphas, or both, and those that claim trophies for personal satisfaction.

Weavile also have a specific mating ritual. When one Weavile encounters a potential mating partner during mating season, the Weavile will initiate a duel-like spar session to test the other. If the other Pokémon fails to match the Weavile or is struck too often, the Sharp Claw Pokémon will reject that particular Pokémon as a mating partner. If the other Pokémon manages to match or surpass the Weavile in the spar session, then the Weavile will recognize the other as a righteous mating partner. Weavile are protective, monogamous partners that only seek new partners if their mate is separated for a substantial amount of time, or if the mate is killed. Most mating rituals are technically initiated by the males looking for a partner, while the females are the ones that most commonly accept their challenges. Gestation periods involving Sneasel or Weavile averages four to five months between a same-species mating pair. Otherwise, gestation periods wildly vary based on the other Pokémon. Sharp Claw Pokémon are relatively fertile; gestations that involve Sharp Claw Pokémon carry a comparatively high chance for multiple offspring being simultaneously conceived and born. This is partially the reason why they tend to form groups and are social Pokémon within their own circles, and their populations rarely dip into threatened status across regions.

Weavile are of acute interest by researchers and trainers alike. Their intelligence and cooperative behavior makes them strikingly intriguing subjects for researchers, while trainers are fonder of their natural acclimation for battle. Many regard Weavile ownership with controversy. There are many examples of Weavile ownership where they have been domesticated into perfectly fine and beneficial, Pokémon. Yet, many argue that their naturally devious behavior makes them of high interest for criminal activities with proof. Whether it is to use their speed to steal from others or their ruthlessness to deal bodily harm to others, it is easy to see there is plenty of controversy over ownership.

Conversely, hunters, rangers, and farmers treat them as an extremely high-threat pest species. Sharp Claw Pokémon are notoriously ravenous of everything they come into contact with. They can effortlessly make populations of other, relatively weaker Pokémon plummet in a short time span, and depending on the intensity of the problem, can cause devastating, lingering environmental and property damage in the process. Some regions are even known to introduce a lenient hunting season to stem the numbers of the Sharp Claw Pokémon. Such situations are typically reserved for abnormally high numbers of Sharp Claw Pokémon, or if there is confirmation of a pack in an area where their presence is not tolerated.

Much research regarding the Sharp Claw Pokémon remains, with breakthroughs being found and recorded daily.

 _[UNOVA EXTENDED FIELD RESEARCH POK_ _éDEX ENTRY 416:WEAVILE: END]_

* * *

Far to the northwest of the Unova Region, where the snow-capped highlands lie in privacy, there was a juvenile Sawsbuck running as fast as its legs could go, not caring which direction it was going, as long as it wasn't behind him. He was trying to force himself to go faster and faster; faster than his legs could ever hope to carry him. The Sawsbuck's sprint was coming to a crawl as blood loss from an open wound on its side drained away his stamina as he collapsed onto the snow. The Pokémon felt the cruel cold seep into his body from his wound as the ground beneath was dyed a mild pink. He gazed behind him to see a devilish pack of Weavile closing in fast; cackling to celebrate their success early.

Out of desperation, the Sawsbuck mustered the last of his strength to stand and fight, hoping to take down as many of the vicious Pokémon he could. Soon he was surrounded by all sides of cackling, spitting Weavile that were sharpening their claws in anxiousness. One member from behind shrieked an attack order, forcing all the Weavile to dogpile the Sawsbuck. The wounded Sawsbuck readied itself to counter the swarming pack with its stubby set of horns, only to have each of its legs lacerated by the Weavile.

The Sawsbuck cried out in pain as it fell to the ground awkwardly, followed by the fifth Weavile, the one that gave the order to charge, coming into its blurred vision. It raised its claw and drove it into the doomed Sawsbuck's neck. Almost instantly, the leading Weavile pulled its claw towards itself to tear out its throat. It died swiftly and without a fuss.

"Ah, that's more like it," cheered the Weavile executioner, "I love a good hunt!" "Now, let's get this meat back to the others." The five Weavile took an appendage, four on the legs and carrying the head, lifted up the carcass in unison, and started to take it back to the others.

It was just another night in the chilled lands far in Northern Unova. The cold lands are no place for the weak. Hollow, piercing, whistling winds that graze across whatever they touch dance unrestrained through the frigid air. The dark nights bring even colder temperatures, which can cause entire groups to disappear by the time the sun comes up. Plants and berries become scarce, save for a select few, dictating the diet of most that have made the cold their home to primarily meat. Those that don't express a will to survive by any means necessary are soon swallowed up from the ice and cold air, or find themselves the target of a more hardened predator. Here, an extended pack of nomadic Weavile have made a successful kill against a considerably sized Sawsbuck. It was just another incident that occurs in nature, as ugly as it may be.

Elsewhere in the frigid region was the remaining pack of Sharp Claw Pokémon that stayed behind. They took residence at the foot of small mountain dotted with tall, frost adorned trees, and a cave that went about fifty feet deep. It was this pack's home, their shelter, and their safe haven. The pack had stayed there for about a week, enjoying the shelter and atmosphere. Communicating, playing, and training was going about underneath the snowy, umbra sky. A female Sneasel, a few inches taller than the rest, spotted the hunters returning.

"Hey! Look!" she rallied to her relatives, "They're back!"  
The other Weavile and Sneasel turned their attention to the hunting party coming back with a big Sawsbuck being dragged against the snow by exhausted, bloodied Weavile. Even though they appeared exhausted, it was a satisfactory tiredness upon killing and bringing back such a hearty prey. It was being dragged on the snowy ground by all four of the hunters; one on each limb, and the leader carrying the head. The hunting Weavile dropped the Sawsbuck in front of their hungry kin and made way for them to scramble towards the carcass.

"Eat up. We got ourselves a big one here!" barked one of the hunting Weavile to his hungry companions.

"This one took a while, too." huffed another member who sat down to relax his limbs.

The pack scurried towards the carcass in a unified mass, with the exception of the one who called out their return. She was the closest to the slain Sawsbuck and thus the first to be served, or so she thought. One of the hunters recognized the hungry Sneasel and swatted her away with the back of his hand.

"Oh, hoho, no," laughed the bullying Pokémon, "runts like you don't get to have the best bits! Either learn your place or bring your own contribution here!" A few other tired Weavile chimed in with their cackling.

"Owww," she squeaked, "you didn't have to do that!"

This Sneasel was considered to be a beta. She was the crowd favorite to be picked on, as she never tagged along or contributed to a hunt ever since she was able to. Scuff marks and scratches perpetually adorned her coat, making her look like a raggedy, abandoned Pokémon. There was also a distinct notch cut into her ear feather from one of the alphas, making her immediately identifiable to the others when they needed to blow off steam. It is not uncommon for packs of Weavile to start picking on the weaker members that tag with them, whether for stress relief, identifying hierarchies, or for sadistic entertainment.

The aggressive Weavile crossed his arms and raised a sarcastic eyebrow at the hurt Sneasel, obviously enjoying the schadenfreude.

"Oh?" he remarked.

"Why do you always have to pick on me?"

The stubborn Weavile uncrossed his arms and pointed at her, taking a step closer every second to further shame the Sneasel,

"Because WE are the ones who know how to hunt…"

He took a step closer. One of the feeders looked up at the commotion.

"…Because WE are the ones who know how to make a kill and bring it back here…"

He took another step and got up to the Sneasel's face and rested the tip of his claw on her throat. Several more pair of eyes looked up, equally split between disturbance and excitement.

"…Because WE are the ones risking our lives to go out where it isn't safe to bring YOU food to fill your belly…"

His voice drew nearly all the Pokémon's attention to the Sneasel, who was starting to feel the pressure pile fast,

"…and _YOU'RE_ the one complaining, who never had to go out and risk your life to make a contribution as you leech off our contributions with no compliment?"

She locked up from his words. It was as if she was being strangled from an invisible Ekans.

Without warning, the opposing Weavile delivered a kick to her gut to knock her back onto the snowy ground.

"Hmph!" the Weavile spat onto the Sneasel, as he pressed his foot on her forehead.

"Please stop! I just want to eat!" whimpered the tormented Sneasel as more and more pressure was applied onto her head. As she blindly flailed her arms and was about to cut the oppressing Weavile's ankle, another one of the hunters rushed over behind her and clenched her limbs to fully immobilize her. She cried out for help, but the rest of her feeding kin were watching the brawl while snacking on the Sawsbuck's innards.

"Stop it, stop it! Please!" she begged, but her words were met with sharper pain, as the one restraining her arms started to clench her arms tighter, greatly increasing her pain. She cried and squirmed to get the two Weavile off her, but it was only using up more of her strength.

"Keep on squirming, runt! Squirm until you realize you will always be at the bottom! Go ahead and make it harder on yourself!" cried the Weavile that started it all as he started to twist his foot on top on her.

Eventually, she gave up and remained in defeated silence with grave emotions running through her mind: sadness, discipline, revenge…

"I'll take that as yes. Heh. Took you long enough."

All she could do we lay on the ground in the snow until the two bullying Weavile relinquished the pressure on her so she may finally feed. The carcass was nearly picked clean; all the tender and juicy bits were claimed, and there was not enough meat for her to pass the night without hunger. She ate what she could as she heard the distant laughter of the Weavile hunters complimenting each other on ganging up on her. Malicious thoughts were racing through her mind.

( _I can't take it. I can't take it at all. I'll prove to them that I'm not just some underlying that takes the fall every time they get offended. I'll show them. I'll show them all. And when they do, I'll be the one laughing at them…_ )

The bullied Sneasel tried to brush it off and rejoin the others to get some sleep. She lay down to try and get ready for tomorrow, but remained wide awake from her bad memories.

She was always on the bottom of the totem pole, despite the fact she was the biggest sized Sneasel that pack ever had at around three and a half feet. Being bigger meant she needed more than the rest, and she was always handed scraps, not to mention all the "big baby" insults from her peers from her size. The runt tried to forget about it, prepare for a new day, and get some rest.

But she could not get rest. Negative thoughts swirled in her mind. Any sort of drowsiness was shunted away. Stress and bad memories were winning over her biological clock. She couldn't sleep; she realized she didn't _want_ to the same time, something was shining through all the dark thoughts. A glimmer of inspiration, a speck of hope. The Sneasel got up from her ill rest to further explore this obscured speck of change.


	2. Chapter 2: Bootstrapping

[Chapter Two]

The bullying experience the Sneasel just experienced kept her wide awake from stress. All those punches, kicks, slaps, and whatever was used to strike her down kept her from just drifting off to sleep and forgetting about it, oh no. All those insults and beatings had started to develop the seed of self-motivation deep within her. The Sneasel couldn't continue like this. Something had to be done, starting now.

So, she got up and isolated herself from the rest of the sleeping Pokémon to sort out her problems in private. It was true that she never did join in with the killings to bring back food, and she honestly took all of the pack's efforts for granted. Why bother putting in effort when everybody else has been pulling in satisfactory results? Of course, she was given some lessons on how to use her claws and to utilize the ice around her, but she never seemed to treat it seriously. Obviously, that didn't help much when she was ganged up by the others. Something was going to be changed.

( _I'm tired of this. If they want me to start learning how to fight, then I'll just do it myself!_ )

The Sneasel hiked off on a single path for a while, trying to find the last bit of inspiration to get started on combat practice. She eyed all around the landscape, seeing nothing that she thought would be useful to her. Nothing at all but rolling and folding plains coated with snow and barren trees. A low growl escaped her maw out of disgust of not finding anything, which was quickly drowned out by the rumbling of her seemingly perpetually empty stomach. She mused aloud to herself about her dilemma,

" _Hunger pains…_ "

The Sneasel then realized she had lost track of how long she'd been trekking away from the group, but it was enough to expend what little food she managing to pick from the carcass from earlier. On top of this was the realization that she was in relatively open space; most of the nearby shelter offered by the landscape was put behind her. Thoughts of getting sideswiped by a rivaling, opportunistic Pokémon and being unable to get away from a lack of energy started to get to her. At the same time, she felt two things pull on her in opposite directions. One force tugged at her to keep going, with the hollow promise of finding something to make it worthwhile. The other was screaming at her to turn back now and cut her losses before something bad could happen.

Out of psychological stress and indecision, she dug her feet in into the crusty snow, crossed her arms, and stared down. She tried her best to contemplate _everything_ that had happened to her, what she is doing right now, and what could occur in the future. She gave a quick glance behind her, noting the footprints she left behind on her walkabout. It trailed all the way back to where her pack was; sleeping, hunting, cackling, whatever she thought would be doing now. Should she just run off and never look back? Would it be best to return now and take whatever possible torment her "friends" could unleash on her?

Their words and actions started to seep deep into her conscious once more with her claws scraping into her paws.

" _ **What's the problem? Can't take a little exertion?"**_

" _ **Are you going to cry for us?"**_

" _ **You're nothing but a dreg!"**_

" _ **You'll never rise out of your ditch."**_

" _ **We may as well just leave you behind, runt!"**_

There she pictured herself, on the ground and all beat up, surrounded by her cackling peers as one of them approaches. He tilts head to give a playful inspection of her current being, when he brandishes his claws, pulls his arm back, and shoots it straight towards her head to put her down, the claw swelling in her face as it was brought closer to her eyes, ready to end it all-

She peeled her eyes wide open in shock with a terrified gasp to break her out of her meditation. It was perfectly timed with a rogue wind whistling through her gut in unison with a northern gust whisking across her skin.

"What am I even doing?" she mused with a hand on her forehead. "This… isn't right…"

The stressed out Sneasel lifted her feet out of the snug snow holes and looked around. She came out here for a reason, after all. But, she still came up empty handed, minus the irritation and wounds she unconsciously gave her palms.

"I mean, there's got to be something else out here, right? Right?" the Sneasel spoke to herself aloud once more. A final, quick scan of her environment ensued. Something caught her eye at last.

* * *

Off to the right stood a stubby berry tree amidst the bleak landscape, calling out for any Pokémon to come closer to investigate. The Sneasel's mouth widened in surprise at finally finding something that could justify this hike. Could she really have been this lucky?

She made a mad dash to the berry tree, not caring if it was real or a hallucination. That sweet, plump bluk berry she snagged before anybody else could take it for themselves when her pack encountered one during migration. The way she scarfed it down and felt her palette be blessed with such a delicious berry that also gave a boost to hair health was unforgettable to her. She had only wished that there would be some of the same she had, or any type of berry, really, growing in spite of the treacherous temperatures encompassing it.

" _Please, please let there be something!_ "

And so she approached the berry tree, intending to ransack whatever berries there may be. It is not uncommon for there to be berry-bearing trees in the blistering cold environment of deep northwest Unova. However, what trees that do take root bear little compared to the trees farther to the south of the region, and whatever fruits that grow are swiftly picked clean by passing Pokémon. There was also hope that this one was untouched as she darted to it.

When she arrived at the barren berry tree, she scanned it rigorously to look for any scraps of fruit to eat.

" _There's got to be something edible here! Come on, come on!_ "

She frisked all around the berry tree but found no edible berries to eat. The few fruits present were about as hard, and nutritious, as pebbles. Only a web of dead, wrinkled, and brambly wooden limbs dusted with snow stood in front of her. It was a husk of the rich plant's former self, seemingly mocking the Pokémon's empty stomach. Small tears were pooling under her eyes as emotions started to whirl across her psyche; astonishment, humiliation, anger…

The starving Sneasel growled at the husk of the berry tree before her. She knew deep down that there would be no food of any kind to harvest from the tree. It was no taller than she was, and given the region's climate, the best thing it could produce would be the pits that were scarcely more filling than small rocks.

To make matters worse, she leaned her head against the trunk of the berry tree to try and get ahold of herself, when a stray branch poked her in the side. Mentally, it stung about as much as when one of the pack bullies swiped her across the face. Then she heard their voices ring in her head once more as if they had spawned behind her to make fun of her plight.

" _ **Hahaha, look at you! Coming all this way, just to get scratched up! A tree scratched you up. A tree!**_ "

That was the last straw.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon pulled her head back and chopped at a stray branch at her side with as much force as she could muster. It was cut clean off and settled to the snow-laden ground with a quiet "thump." She took a step back and started to madly slice away at the nearby pointed branches out of petty spite. Soft sounds of twigs being cut and broken and knock about rung in her ear. The Sneasel stopped in the middle of the frenzy upon realizing something.

"Wait a minute," she spoke to herself as she the front of her paws for half a second, then whipped them around to examine the back of them.

The flash of inspiration she wanted at the start of this walk finally came to her.

The Sneasel took a deep breath and begun to hack away with well-calculated yet quick cuts to forcefully shave the barren, dead tree. It only took the fourth incision against the wimpy twigs before her pace nearly doubled; she was losing herself amongst a whizzing cloud of pointy slivers breaking off with audible, crisp snaps of cheap kindling. Some of them got lodged into her fur, but it only served to encourage her to keep shaving away ferociously. In her mind, she was carving away at the bullying Weavile that pushed her around despite their petty prods of their claws.

The entire left-hand section of the berry tree was trimmed. The only imperfections were a handful of untouched twigs and the girthy limbs that they grew from, along with some sections that were cut a little too short for her liking. Nonetheless, she was very impressed by the work she just did on the tree. At the same time, she felt a very satisfactory pang of warmth deep in her gut.

Her inspection ended and she went right back to giving the rest of the berry tree another shaving session, only fierier. There was something…fulfilling about unraveling this tree's knotty exterior that urged her to continue. Akin to a faint voice calling in the back of her mind imagine the wood as the yielding flesh of a wounded Pokémon unfit for the tundra. And continue she did with the precision, power, and speed of each mark being improved from the one before it.

It was her natural hunting instincts finally awakening after being smothered by social stress.

She continued with sculpting the tree to better suit her liking. Nothing was watching or judging her. It was just her and her newly found scratching post to take out her aggression. More and more twigs were shaved off and accumulating onto the snow-laden soil like oversized sawdust particles. She made a near-full rotation of the tree, where the only major part left was the limb that had poked her in the side a few minutes ago. An idea popped in her mind.

The enthralled Sneasel raised her right paw and delivered a straight-down swipe with the tips of her claws. The blow had enough force to cleave right through the branch, making an eerily satisfying _-*SNAP* -_ unlike the other limbs she hacked off just now. Such a sound indeed fell upon the ears of some distant Pokémon. It hurt her paw in recoil, but she was amazed at being able to break a sturdier limb like that.

"Heh, scratching post," the Sneasel cooed as she massaged her sore paw from the impact. At the base of her new scratching post was an ugly mass of sundered twigs half-buried under a sloppy mound of snow. She didn't care that her fur was riddled with stray splinters and shavings. That felt _invigorating_. That session felt so invigorating, in fact, that she even forgot about her hunger pains until her stomach conveniently rumbled right as the last limb broke off.

With uplifted spirits, the Sneasel picked out any pieces of wood she could before following her tracks back to her sleeping pack. She was totally exhausted in a productive way.

" _So here I am, the mighty shrubbery slayer. Heh. Well, that felt superb. And that feeling in my gut, hopefully I'll get to feel it again soon. Maybe they'll even leave me alone once I practice on something that can put up more of a fight._ "

* * *

The Sneasel had nearly returned, only to be greeted by a trio of keen scouts about a hundred steps away from her pack's current residence. They heard they branch snapping sound and got up to do a swift patrol of the area. One of them brandished his claws out of surprise but quickly retracted them upon seeing one of their own. The Sneasel had a small, smug smile on her face.

"What seems to be the matter?" she asked the trio.

"Did you hear that sound?" the jumpy scout asked.

"What happened to you? Are you alright?" asked the second member upon noticing the abundance of splinters dotting the Sneasel. She looked a little confused for just a moment.

"Oh, this?" she replied as she plucked a fragment that was poking out of her left kneecap, "Just wanted to sharpen my claws a little, if you catch my drift."

The third member stepped forward with his inputs, "We thought there was a threat sneaking around here. Trying to ambush us when we're sleeping. I'm hoping it was just you stepping on a rather large stick." The jumpy Weavile scout started to walk back to signal the others to escort the Sneasel back to safety. She breathed easy knowing that it wasn't one of the cruel ones that always toyed with her.


	3. Chapter 3: Those That Walk Among Us

They had returned safe and sound, greeted with a couple other members that woke up from the sudden sound. One of the hunters from the earlier hunt was amongst the awoken.

"You…" he hissed at the Sneasel, "you woke us up, didn't you?"

"Look, it's all right, she said she was just sharpening her claws," assured one of the Weavile patrol trio, "whatever made that sound is probably gone anyway."

The Sneasel made herself a spot on the ground next to the freezing Sawsbuck carcass and got comfortable to finally get some rest. The cruel hunter still snarled at her, figuring that she was the culprit. He didn't have the will to argue with anything right now, so he gave a rude "bah!" with a whisk of his claw and went back to sleep.

As the rest of the Sharp Claw Pokémon was going back to sleep, the jumpy Weavile started to grow increasingly uncomfortable. This incident reminded him of a terrible thing long ago that made him so paranoid today. How could he be sure that everything was okay? Was she telling the truth? Why did he have to be the only one that made it? The newly surfaced feeling of distress and uncertainty gnawed at him. He had to get it off his chest to confirm it.

Right as the Sneasel runt took her position, she was approached by the paranoid Weavile with a gloomy look on his face. His breathing also kicked up as he twiddled his claws.

"Are you okay?' she asked the fellow member of her pack.

"Well, it's just that I hope you're telling the truth about what just happened…"

She laughed.

"Hmph, why wouldn't I?"

He appeared apprehensive.

"It's just that…well, you were the one that made those sounds," he muttered before shook his head to spit it out, "and not those…taller beings from before."

The Sneasel sat up out of curiosity. She never heard such as thing being brought up by the others before.

"What do you mean? Some other Pokémon?"

The paranoid Weavile sighed and took a stressed breath before sitting down with her.

"They weren't Pokémon. They… ugh, can I just explain what happened from the top?"

The Sneasel nodded, and the Weavile immediately felt relief at given an opportunity to speak out his problems.

"Okay, here is how I remember it," he spoke to recall the haunting event.

"It all started last winter; you were probably too young to remember it. Anyway, I evolved and became eligible to participate in group hunts. I felt so anxious to start making contributions, thinking that I was untouchable and would be the best there was. We had settled down in a spot towards the east, I think. It gave us plenty of shelter, but we were the only Pokémon in that area, so we had to travel farther than normal to bring back food."

"And you could probably run into something really nasty?" asked the Sneasel.

"We did. I and four others banded together to go out and try to bring back food for the rest of us. We covered a surprisingly amount of ground, so much that we thought that we would lose our way back. So away we went with eyes and ears open for anything of interest. I don't know how long it took, but eventually, we head into a clearing with a big wooden structure in the middle of it."

The Sneasel was now very absorbed into the story. She was dying to know the cause of his plight.

"We never saw anything like it," he continued. "The pack and I decided to investigate it. It was a lot bigger up close than far away, and behind it was a lot more open space. If only I knew what was beyond it…"

"Did you find anything there?"

"Indeed. I saw about seven butchered Pokémon strung up on a bunch of thick sticks in the ground. They were split open and flattened out with bloodied snow under them. There were no organs that I could see and most were missing their skin, so their muscles were exposed. It stunned us that there was Pokémon or some other monster probably living in that wooden cube that flawlessly removed the skin from whatever it caught. Our bellies were rumbling, and we started to help ourselves by peeling off chunks of the meat to feed ourselves. The meat was so tempting that we went from delicately peeling off muscle to just carelessly ripping it off and shoving it in our mouths. And that's…when it happened…" quivered the Weavile who was slowing down his speech.

"What happened? Tell me!" insisted the Sneasel.

The Weavile had paused before he looked her coldly in the eyes.

"We got startled from a sudden, sharp metallic click. We looked at the source of the sound, and there was that…tall being pointing its weapon at us."

The Sneasel froze.

"It was much taller than us, about seven feet. Its face…it was pink and you could see the features of his skull lined with white hair. The monster's body was a scrambled mess of black and white with brown straps in various locations. Its face was pink and partially obscured by a snow-white tuft of hair, and the entire body looked chubby. And its weapon… the sound and what it did…"

The Weavile had to pause to regain its breath.

"The weapon it carried was an elongated, metal tube. The monster jerked its hand underneath the tube about a foot, then pulled it forward again, which was what caught our attention. It…yelled something, like "Get off here!" and then… and then… oh Arceus…"

"What happened then?"

The Weavile took another deep breath and looked down as if he gave a serious apology. She knew it was something terrible when one of her fellow pack mates, known carrying thick skin, shuddered at mentioning it.

"One second later, there was this blinding flash of light and a deafening blast of sound that stunned us. When I regained my senses and looked around… one of our hunting members was torn apart and on the ground, dead. I… never thought things could get so ugly and traumatizing seeing your friend just… _die_ that horribly so fast… body parts scattered everywhere…"

The Sneasel was taken aghast by what she had just heard. You could kill something that easily and that horribly?

"I just couldn't believe what happened. But it didn't end it. I heard two more metallic clicks; "cli-CLACK." There were wispy trails of smoke emanating from that pipe, and from behind popped out a little object thing that gave off more trails of smoke until it was buried under the snow. One of the other hunters screeched and lunged towards the monster, and… oh Arceus, she was right in front of the pipe and got…it worse… ohhh Arceus…"

"That one had it even worse?"

The Weavile was clenching is fist and subconsciously was digging his claws into his palm out of stress.

"It was much worse. And it happened much quicker than the other one. I still remember getting a splash of blood on me after the second explosion of light and sound to muddle my senses. Then came more words, I think it said "Get out! Get. Get! Get running now!" while it waved around its weapon. At that point I didn't care what happened, I just wanted _out_ as fast as possible. So I turned around and ran as fast as I could in the direction we came from. In the distance I heard that "cli-CLACK" again behind me."

The Sneasel was shaking a little out of terror. A great Pokémon with a pipe that deafened and blindly those nearby as one other was killed outright? Was such a thing even _real_?

"What about the others?"

"I don't know what happened to them. I did hear a third deafening sound, but I didn't care what was going on. I just ran out of horror. If that is not something to be afraid, then tell me, what is? Does that not make you twitch at the _slightest_ snapping or metallic sound off in the distance knowing that something could be after you at any moment?"

They both paused to catch their breath for a moment before the Weavile wrapped up the story with how nobody believed him when he had finally returned to the others. They all thought he had gone insane from eating some strange berry from how shaken up he was and how incomprehensible his speech was.

She, too, found his story hard to believe. But seeing how accurately he retold the events and how uneasy he became the further he told the story, she had finally believed him. She snapped a glance over her shoulder out of paranoia as well.

"And the ones that fell to that monster," she asked, "do you think they were my parents?"

The stressed Weavile looked at her with a bewildered expression.

"W-What makes you say that?"

"They went off one day and didn't come back. I didn't spend much time with the, but they were the only ones that loved me, and I loved them back."

Her voiced grew hostile.

"Tell me!"

The Weavile remained silent and stared at the snow for a full minute as he raced the awful events through his mind again. In retrospect, the ones that he saw get obliterated _did_ look a little bigger than the others, which would match the Sneasel's size.

"I… think so, but…"

He didn't finish speaking as the Sneasel was frightened. Her parents, the only ones in her pack that liked and protected her, getting killed far away from some tall monster with a totally out of this world method of killing.

She turned around and fell into a fetal position with faint whimpers and crystalline tears skidding down her face with eyes wide with horrification realization. Of all explanations, that had to be the icebreaker? It was way too much information to process, particularly at a time like this.

The paranoid Weavile gave a regretful, saddened sigh as he walked away back to his sleeping spot to leave the Sneasel alone to deal with what she just learned.

* * *

The story told by the surviving Weavile has a partly different perspective from the tall being making sure that no more Pokémon would intrude on his property. Closer towards human civilization stood a quiet, lonely cabin amidst the snow-blanketed landscape. That cabin was under the ownership of a veteran hunter called Wilson Hotchkiss. He was a tall, older, burly man standing at 6' 8" and about 250 pounds with brown eyes. Wilson had a very thick wavy, but short, white beard, like someone dragged a rake through a patch of snow. His beard completely hid his chin and obscured his jawline, crawling up the sides of his face and connecting with his scalp. He had a short, bushier mustache on his upper lip matching the same color as his beard. A few rows of wrinkles were notched into his forehead from age, contrasting from the relatively smooth skin of his face. Wilson had a full head of cotton-white hair on his head with few signs of balding, usually obscured by his hunting cap he usually wore. Wilson's usual attire for being out in the field was a thick full-body uniform in arctic camo. All sorts of white, black, and many gray splotches adorned the uniform, though his outfit was closer to the lighter spectrum in general.

He had bought and maintained that cabin and the surrounding property for decades, treating it as his secondary home from his official one in Icirrus City. Wilson was considered the ultimate outdoorsman; whenever he had a chance to escape to his cabin in the north to be at one with nature's cold side, he would immediately do so, and found himself staying there longer with each visit. Wilson loved being isolated from the rest of humanity to connect with nature and hunt some of the hearty Pokémon that also made the cold their home. But living far out into the snowy countryside presented its own set of problems.

One windy, frosty afternoon, Wilson Hotchkiss was holed up in his cabin preparing lunch for himself by grilling up some venison. It wasn't from the meat he shot the other day, nor was that hunt an easy one. He was forced to go on a several-hour track on the Stantler he wounded in the gut with a poorly aimed shot. Trudging through knee-high snow in thirty degrees below freezing for a couple of hours to retrieve a hearty Stantler, and making an even harder return trip was certainly worth getting frustrated at. In the end he did manage to recover it and string it up on the processing station, but further processing was for another day. The next day, he prepared himself on a long day of butchering the Stantler. As he was cooking himself some breakfast chops from a previous Stantler, he helped himself to every outdoorsman's favorite medicine: whiskey.

There was always a tall, chilled, amber bottle of old-fashioned whiskey in the cabin to help the hunter cope with tough times. He knew that guns and alcohol don't mix, and he only drank when he was sure he wasn't going to do any more shooting. But the false warmth it temporarily provided helped him take the edge off being a mountain man. Wilson did not mind it anyway because he only had one or two shots of it, usually. This time was different. Wilson easily downed about half the bottle of whiskey to help bear with what the laborious day he had. Anybody would start getting scary with that much alcohol in their system, let alone one with a gun. He swigged down the booze just as the venison was finished cooking. Wilson looked out the window right as he was about to serve himself the chops.

He had to take a double check out of disbelief of what he just saw: five Weavile that just left the tree line and approaching the Stantler he nearly broke his back to get.

Wilson had to battle with the native Sharp Claw Pokémon ever since the beginning of his cabin days. The first-hand accounts, stories, and warnings were all backed up by what a pack of Sneasel or Weavile could do if it was oversized and expanding closer towards humans. At first, Wilson tried to not intervene with the Sharp Claw Pokémon too much. Most of the time it was one or two strays that got lost or outcast from the others and went about their own business peacefully. But as time passed, Pokémon populations expanded. The sightings near his property became more frequent and severe things were starting to become common.

Freshly retrieved carcasses attracted the wild scavengers, which began to come in droves at random, to steal Wilson's meat and tear up the surroundings. His income and land were being bled dry from damage done by the Weavile and Sneasel that now started to associate his cottage with an effortless source of food.

Wilson had brainstormed ways in the past to scare off the packs of Weavile and Sneasel that were tormenting his property, but he was getting outsmarted almost as soon as he tried implementing them. Repelling and masking chemicals and fences failed to bring any satisfactory results. He was getting outsmarted at nearly every turn at his attempts to keep them away. Months of culminated bitterness from repeated failures, costly infrastructure repairs, untold amounts of meat lost, and the darkened figures of the Sharp Claw Pokémon finally got to Wilson's head. Something inside him snapped and broke him off from his old connections with nature and Pokémon. Violent thoughts were bubbling in his head at an alarming rate.

"Oh, that does it! Not this time! Nope, not gonna happen!" Wilson Hotchkiss screamed to himself upon seeing a hunting party of Weavile come out of the woodwork to ransack the efforts of his most recent labor. Wilson made a mad dash to throw on his hunting coat and to get his weapon of choice: an old-fashioned, rugged shotgun that earned the nickname of "Trench Sweeper" back in the day. It had served him without issue for many years, and it certainly wouldn't fail him here. Wilson snagged a fistful of his favorite and exotic shells out of its box and loaded his weapon before barging out the door in frustration.

And there they were, stripping of chunks of the Stantler he labored within mockery of his efforts. He clenched his teeth and racked in a shell to be fired, complete with the crisp and distinct _cli-CLACK_ of the action. That certainly got the attention of the Weavile.

"You fucking pests!" he roared at the surprised Weavile as he took aim at one that just ripped off a piece of meat about the size of his fist. The iron sights were lined up dead-center with the thieving Pokémon's chest them came the pull of the trigger.

* * *

* _ **BOOOOOM**_ *

* * *

His target fell instantly as the rest flinched from the sound and muzzle flash. A metallic tinnitus hung in the air from the gunshot to stun the Weavile. They recuperated and took a look at their obliterated partner. What was one of their comrades was a bloody body with a hole about the size of a fist in its chest. They were mortified at the bloody scene; they were violent themselves, but not like this.

"You like that!?" he roared as he kept his finger firmly on the trigger of his hunting shotgun while holding the pump back to eject the empty shell, ready to deliver a second nasty surprise to the Pokémon.

The Weavile stared in shock at their shot and killed comrade through their shared tinnitus. There was a cavity roughly the size of one of their fists in the upper-center portion of the unfortunate Weavile's torso. With a closer glimpse done in under a fraction of a second, there appeared to be six tiny, separate paths of tunneling spread out from the central cavity. Thoughts of terror surged through the brain of every Pokémon present from seeing what a human and his firearm can do to their kind.

" _[What—Wh-What is this!?]_ "

One of the Weavile shrieked and lunged directly at Wilson, who was still firmly holding down the trigger and pulling the pump back. If Wilson were armed with any other sporting shotgun, he would've index his finger and pushed the pump to ready a second shot. Instead, he and was going to show the Weavile what his favorite gun can _really_ do.

The Weavile came roughly a few feet from physical contact as Wilson continued to hold down the trigger, take aim, and rushed the pump forward.

* _ **Klack-BOOM**_ *

The second Weavile was thrown back and dead before it even hit the ground as a point blank blast tore through it. Wilson held down the trigger and pushed the slide forward to eject a second empty shell with extra wisps of smoke. The surviving Weavile had enough ran as fast as their legs allowed them to sprint back to the woods they came from.

"Fuck off!" roared Wilson as he slam fired the rest of the ammo. A thundering encore of * _klickklack_ _ **BOOM**_ _-klickklack_ _ **BOOM**_ _*_ reverberated in the cold air to make sure that there will be no more visits from the Sharp Claw Pokémon. "Don't come back! There's plenty'a more where that came from if you do! You motherfucker you!"

Once the Weavile were out of sight and his gun went dry, he looked at the mess he just made.

He never felt so _violent_ before, nor did he feel so self-righteous about turning two Weavile into such a bloody _mess_ with such close-quarter power. From that moment on, Wilson never again looked at himself as the cool outdoorsman that prided on being one with nature. He held a terrible grudge against any Sneasel or Weavile that came into his sight, and it felt so satisfying to carry it out exactly like the killers he despised.

Overkilling something up close like that tapped into his inner feelings of disdain. The hunter, in truth, felt somewhat hollow and bitter after killing those two Pokémon. The world was now viewed with an extra shade of disgust and skepticism through his eyes. A more pessimistic personality had awakened to reflect the environment which he dwelled in.

Wilson disappeared back into the house to properly dispose of the carcasses, craving the last bit of whiskey in the bottle.


	4. Chapter 4: Arrival

Several years went by since the incident, and there were very few other Sharp Claw Pokémon encounters since. Both of which ended peacefully with some harsh words and the distinct sound of racking a shell, much to the delight of the Pokémon. The survivors of the encounters told the others the horrors of what could happen if they strayed to the cabin on the outskirts. Word got around amongst the members, and they became much more selective in their movements. If Wilson had to say one thing positive about the Sharp Claw Pokémon, it would be that they knew when to quit. They quickly learned to associate humans and the sounds of their guns with fear, and thus avoidance. Wilson still didn't like them at all, though. The bitterness they dug into him was forgotten and covered up well when Jack Hotchkiss, Wilson's grandson and budding hunter, traveled north to visit.

It was late afternoon accompanied with moderate snowfall and cracks of golden light peeking through the layer of gray clouds. Jack Hotchkiss had finally arrived at his grandfather's cabin out in the snow. He was a tall man like his grandfather, but slender, standing at 6' 4" and weighing about 190 pounds. Jack's eyes were a dazzling icy blue color, unlike his grandfather's brown eyes. His outfit for the winter was also in arctic camo like Wilson's, but his outfit leaned more on the darker side with more dark grays and black splotches contrasting with Wilson's lighter coat. Both were equally thick, protective, and stylish. Jack also had simple, long-cuffed black gloves a solid black knitted cap to keep his head and hands warm.

This was the first time Jack had ventured out to the cabin, and the drastic differences in the environment await him. No internet access, video games, convenience of stores and shopping centers, or agitation of noisy and polluting traffic around for miles. Jack didn't mind coming out to the chillier side of the countryside for a change of pace. In fact, he was beginning to look forward to it, for he had something to look forward to this year. Not only could he escape the tedium of living in the large cities, he was given an opportunity to learn how to hunt like his grandfather, for real.

Jack had successfully applied for a hunting permit and a weapon license and was raring to go. He was never much of a shooter, but the allure of traveling north to go hunting got him roped up in firearms, hunting, and being an outdoorsman in general. With some help from his grandfather, he sorted out the legal paperwork and got himself the proper permits to authorize him hunting and owning his first gun. Was it really worth it to stomp around in below freezing temperatures for hours on end for the vain chance to make his grandfather proud? Turning back was still an option.

A bad one at that.

Jack wouldn't make it all for naught. Jack wouldn't crush Wilson's hopes and expectations of getting a taste of what would make a real man in his eyes. Jack would man up and face the beginning to his journey as an outdoorsman. And it would all start inside the snow-blanketed cabin. The young man felt so anxious about visiting his grizzled grandfather to engage in a free-spirited hunt, that he couldn't turn back. Jack looked out the windows and at the golden beams peeking through the clouds amidst the snowfall. It looked mighty cold out, but breathtaking.  
"Okay," Jack said aloud to himself as he opened the door, "it's just a little snow."

Glacial winds spat at him with sharp winds whipping across his face and cutting into his soul. A startled "brrrrrroof!" escaped his lips upon leaving the warm sanctum of his vehicle and out to the elements. It sure was way more temperate back south!

Jack hurried to grab the case containing his gun and legal paperwork and his weapon's black leather holster before bolting to the cabin's door like a frightened Skitty.

" _Come on, a little wind won't kill you,_ " Jack thought to himself as he plodded through the snow, " _I can do this. I can do this, no turning back now._ " Every step closer to the cabin made his heart race faster and faster as reality started to seep into his mind. Who knows how much time he would spend out here, and what if it gets much worse? Knowing that some powerful Pokémon might turn the tables against him and his body will be forever lost? Or he'll be frozen out and claimed by hypothermia from spending too much time outside? These things started to pool in his mind from the chilly reminder all around him. His multi-layered clothing didn't help much to thwart the cold.

It would take a while to get used to the cold, at least.

Jack did his best to mentally shove his second-thoughts away by focusing on the pink-red stained processing stations around the cabin.

"Well, maybe I won't have to do the dirty work," Jack said aloud as he thought about carcasses being held up and processed into usable meat, as disgusting as it may be. It bought him a little reprieve as he reached for the doorknob.

" _It'll work out; just take it one step at a time…_ "

He hesitated, swallowed, gave a deep sigh, knocked as much snow off his feet as he could, and pushed the door inward.

" _All right, here goes._ "

* * *

Warmth from the interior rushed forward to contrast with the frozen air around Jack and immediately made him feel more at ease. He walked in and quickly shut the door behind him before he feasted his eyes on the interiors of the trapper cabin.

It seemed much bigger on the inside than on the outside, given it was already rather large for being out in the middle of nowhere. The floor, wall, and ceiling were made up of a hearty mix of lightened and darkened pines, oaks, and spruce woods. Directly across from the door was a bulky fireplace with a few large logs fiercely burning in the pit with a large metal pot fixated in the middle. In front of the fireplace was a black wooden table with two matching black chairs for eating. Two elaborate cabinets made of gorgeous red wood, one on each side of fireplace, housed an extensive collection of firearms of all types at first, with even more in the drawers inside and near the base. Near the middle were two tall, rounded, cushioned high back chairs colored hunter green for lounging. On the left side was a more traditional wood-burning stove used for most of the cooking; a rudimentary sink and cupboards containing plates and eating utensils were right with it. On the right side of the cabin were two queen sized beds that looked recently cleaned and covered with a coffee-colored chevron pattern. In between the two beds is a nightstand holding more sorts of knickknacks unknown to Jack, and in front of the nightstand was a trap door to a cellar for storage of other items. A few other pieces of furniture and appliances were scattered about the cabin, seemingly at random. Above the rightmost bed was Wilson's favorite shotgun; the very same old-fashioned one used for his hunting expeditions.

And of course, the main takeaway: the tops of the walls adorned with the trophies from various Pokémon Wilson shot during his expeditions. All sorts of Pokémon had their prized and untarnished heads or trophy equivalent mounted on the walls, or in the case of the single Ursaring, a rug. The biggest one that stood out was a magnificent twenty-point Sawsbuck directly above the fireplace. It stared forever forward without any signs of emotion or thought, yet perfectly preserved. It was easily Wilson' biggest kill, and he would happily tell the story again and again over a long night over a crackling fire and a bottle of whiskey. The whole atmosphere felt amazing to Jack, who never had an up close experience with such a home before.

This wasn't taking into account the man who owned it all; Wilson Hotchkiss. If Jack didn't know any better, he would easily assume he stepped into the home of one of those apocalypse planners, complete with more guns and ammo than he could imagine, with the occasional bottle of liquid courage. Wilson did tend to fulfill that stereotype during some of his more violent and alcohol-fueled rants.

Jack brushed off a little more snow and Wilson looked behind the green chair he was sitting in. He gave a tender smile to his grandson and stood up,

"Welcome to the wild north," Wilson said as he went for a handshake, "I'm glad you came!"

"I'm glad I did as well," Jack said as he shook Wilson's hand, noting the power grip between them.

"That air was cold, huh? Heheh." Wilson laughed as he looked at Jack's case.

"The first breath felt good," Jack replied, "but I'm really glad I'm in somewhere warm."

"Well, you're gonna have to get real used to the elements around here. What's in the case?"

Jack sat down in the other green chair and opened the case to reveal the contents. Inside was a single shot, break-action rifle chambered for an intermediate cartridge with the factory standard steel finish, jet black plastic furniture, and accompanying scope. The only outside accessory was a black cloth band draped over the synthetic stock with half a dozen furrowed cylinders for securely holding spare cartridges within arm's reach. Along with the gun came the legal paperwork and a large box of ammo. The word "ENCORE" was printed inside the case material right underneath the handle in a blocky font, indicating the model and name of Jack's rifle.

It was a respectable choice for a first firearm, especially for hunting. The rifle itself still looked brand new because Jack hardly used it outside of occasional target practice and a one-time job of getting rid of some unwanted Ratatta from his friend's property back in the summer. But his shining moment to put himself and the gun to the real test was not far off. Wilson was a little surprised at his grandson's presentation as Jack handed him the documents.

"Here's the important stuff," Jack announced as Wilson read the documents, "I could not have done it without your help, you know. This paperwork sucks."

Wilson gave a silent nod to confirm that everything was A-OK. He returned the documents as Jack held up the rifle.

"And the really important stuff," Jack said a bit smugly as he gazed at his face depicted on the weapon permit. On the permit was the face of a handsome young man with a tall body sporting a well-shaven face, blue eyes, and a scalp adorned with a black, unkempt haircut slightly dipping at the left half of his face to give him that street smart look; a picture of Jack Hotchkiss. He imagined himself as the perfect, budding outdoorsman. Jack envisioned a scenario where he was out in the boreal winter wilderness and stalking a massive, trophy-worthy Pokémon against the elements. He took aim and fired the moment they made eye contact to drop it instantly. A young man following in his grandfather's footsteps to get glory only achieved by pitting yourself against a fierce Pokémon on their grounds. No matter what challenge might be thrown his way on this hunting trip, Jack would be happy to face it head on to prove himself in the face of his grandfather.

That's what Jack thought. Such fantasies were painfully naïve to the grizzled veteran who knew that if they went out looking for Pokémon to shoot like he did solo, Jack wouldn't be coming back.

Jack's fantasies evaporated with a sudden locking click sound from his rifle. Wilson asked Jack if he knew what it was chambered for. He grabbed the box of ammo and read off the caliber:

"Three-oh-eight. Middle of the road stuff and said to be a fantastic round for any job."

Wilson liked that answer, even if his grandson needed some assistance.

"You made a good decision. You can't really go wrong with three-aught-eight for anything. However, it might not cut it for some of the larger game up here, especially with the level you're at."

Jack looked befuddled and asked his grandfather what he meant.

"Now, don't get me wrong, I love the round myself, but the game around here gets big. Big and tough. There's nothing wrong using it, but if you're going to be using a three-aught-eight around these parts, you really need to make sure what you're doing. For something like a giant Ursaring, your gun won't cut it in your hands." Wilson ended by handing the rifle back to his grandson and asking, "Have you done any prior hunting at all before making it here?"

Now being put in the spotlight, Jack told of his actual experience using his firearm outside of properly storing and cleaning it. "I hunted some Ratatta with it to help out a friend. It worked great for dealing with them! I-"

Wilson silently interrupted Jack by giving him a stern glance and then scolding him,

"That isn't hunting, that's just shooting. There's a difference between hunting and shooting something. When you sit in the snow all day with nothing but your gun in your clutches, hoping that something will walk by when your body is already rattling from the elements before nightfall, and take a shot at it, that's hunting. Or when you walk several miles to the heart of the woods and wait for several hours every day, lining up your sights on your target with your finger on the trigger, wait for the absolute perfect moment to pull it to bring it down, then bringing it back with it draped over your shoulders, that's hunting."

Wilson's voice started to grow violent as he rattled on between hunting and shooting, especially when specific Pokémon were involved.

"Now, when you have half a dozen filthy Weavile invade your property, stealing meat from the game you had to go to the chasing through a mile of bitter snow and haul back with barely any sunlight to guide you, that's different. You rush out with your gun and start blasting them point blank to make sure they will never, ever bother you again. That's shooting. Hell, even if I intentionally went out to look for Weavile or Sneasel to shoot- guess what? That's not hunting, that's just shooting!"

Wilson ended his rant with Jack shocked. He never liked arguments, especially ones with career hunters that had an entire stockpile of guns, ammo, and fueled by meat and booze. But his voice during the comments on the Weavile piqued Jack's interest. Why was Wilson so bitter bringing up the subject of Weavile? Jack manned up and asked the hunter more about the Pokémon he despised the most.

"Weavile? What about them?" Wilson grunted as he sauntered to the beds, still obviously agitated.

"No, it's just that why do you hate them so much? Are they really that bad? I mean, sure they-"

Big mistake.

* * *

Wilson whipped himself around and pointed a thick finger at Jack to continue his rant. " _Boy_ , you don't know the half of it."

Whenever Wilson used the term "boy" like this, nothing good ever followed. He continued his rant from his grandson accidentally giving him more ammo to work with.

"You think they care? Huh? They are like giant Ratatta. Even worse than giant Ratatta, they are far worse. They're Ratatta with sharper claws and brains. They don't breed as fast, but the damage they do is way worse than some gnawing on beams. Coming here and tearing up my property, my meat, my _way of living_! Pests. Nothing more! If you found one, would you really sit down, call it over with food, and see what happens as it learns there's food to be found here after it rips off your arms and leers are you? They spread diseases, kill off all the other good game, and destroy your home. That's what you get if you want them around. Do you really want them around? Fuckin' assholes ruinin' it for everybody else! There's a reason why people carry guns, Jack! And all of them ain't for huntin'! Fuck 'em. To hell with them!"

The longer Wilson ranted, the more his speech started to slip and slur, and the more violent he sounded. Jack miraculously kept his cool with the trapper's tantrum.

"You're mad because some Weavile came, scratched your property, and ate some meat from the Stantler you shot? But you don't see them around since then, right?"

Wilson ignored Jack's comments and allowed his formal speech begin to take a nosedive. "That ain't even the haffa it. And the worst part? They're smart. They know how to adapt to whatever method you throw at them."

Wilson stopped himself and reached for the shotgun held on the wall in between the beds and above the nightstand.

"Well, except for this. Fuckers won't bother me after eatin' this!"

Wilson carelessly waved the gun around and racked the pump back from muscle memory, making Jack sweat bullets. If Jack knew one thing about guns at all, it would be that you _never_ point one at something unless you are absolutely sure you want to shoot it, loaded or not.

"And that's the only thing I'm glad of!"

Jack immediately took a step back and to the side as Wilson escalated the situation. The hunter looked at his terrified grandson for a moment and then back at the shotgun he was holding. He started to sober up.

"Grandpa! Are you _insane_?!"

Wilson put the shotgun down on the left bed and hung his head in shame. He covered his chiseled face with his palm out of guilt.

"Jack… please forgive me. I get so worked up sometimes."

Jack kept his distance while his heart was madly pounding out of terror. Could his supposed role model accidentally blow his head off from ranting about Pokémon? Jack was starting to regret coming here. Some hunting trip it would turn out to be if he had to go back home in a box.

"Please, don't hold it against me," sobbed Wilson. "I didn't mean to lash out. It's just-it's just so, ugh. Let's pretend that never happened and move on."

Jack took another step back to be safe. Now that his role model was in less of a shooting mood, he could try to talk with him in a more civilized manner about the Pokémon that made him upset.

"But if they are…vermin like you say," Jack reasoned with risk, "then maybe my Encore is also perfect for hunting them. You did say they were like giant Ratatta, and I did put my gun to use against them. Three O' Eight is still good there, right?"

Wilson looked up at the son with a bit of reconciliation.

"…Yeah, that's a good point. Your gun's ideal for the smaller and medium stuff because of the caliber it's in, so it should thankfully have no problem dealing with a Weavile you find. 'Course for a big mother Ursaring, not really. Do you have any spare barrels?"

"Just this one," answered Jack as Wilson scratched his beard in displeasure.

"You'll have to take extra good care of your gun, then. They're built tough, true, but it's still vulnerable to being exposed to enough ice water, or any gunk. Anyway, you'll need a different one, and I'll happily lend you one of mine. But, you will need something much stronger in case you run across one of the big boys in these lands.

Wilson merrily patted the barrel of his prized hunting shotgun.

"Something like this."

Jack was still hesitant about Wilson and the shotgun.

"Is it loaded?" Jack asked.

Wilson blinked his eyes to sober up fully. "Oh, absolutely not. Leaving around loaded guns is how accidents happen. You didn't really think I was going to shoot you, were you?"

Jack didn't answer. Wilson's comment only made him more uncomfortable.

"Trust me," Wilson beckoned with his hands, "it's not loaded. There's no ammo in it. I've been doing this for a long while, so you have my word."

Jack finally accepted it and came right in front of Wilson. He leaned down to examine his prized shotgun.

It was in pristine condition; one could easily mistake it having just been manufactured and sold in the past month, let alone being used for many years of arctic and boreal hunting. It had the standard twenty-inch barrel with a spotless heat shield, even though it was mostly for traditional decoration in this environment. The metal had a very faint bluing finish to it, a subtle but attractive detail. The stock and pump were made out of a very fine, slightly darker walnut wood with the grain running horizontally. The pump also sported vertical grooves for better texture and handling. It was none other than a model Winchester 1897 shotgun, precisely the trench configuration of all things. The gun was an all-Unova marvel of a firearm. Jack was floored by how nice it looked after all of its service.

"This thing's over a hundred years old and still working after being through all this crap?" Jack questioned in awe. Wilson gave a hearty laugh.

"Not quite. The design has been around for over a century, but this one isn't literally a hundred years old. This one is a more modern example, so this one is closer to fifty years old. More of a replica you could say, since getting the real ones dating back to the first thousand production numbers is tedious and expensive. Still, you can't argue that it's a classic. You wanna hold it?"

Jack's eyes lit up as he firmly shook his head in approval. Wilson handed the gun to Jack and turned it about for a closer examination. It was a couple of pounds heavier, and he certainly felt it. He felt enchanted by just holding it and aiming it around the cabin idly. He paused for a moment, gripped the pump, and gave it a rack back then forth to make the parts work in unison with the signature _klickklack_. Jack laughed lightly at realizing why his grandfather used this instead of something more modern: it had _character_ like no other hunting firearm did.

The young man murmured a "Wow…" before respectfully handing it back to his grandfather, but he couldn't back Wilson scooted closer to the nightstand and was digging around in the top drawer. Jack asked what he was looking for as he still clenched Wilson's gun. Wilson pulled out a honey-colored box of ammo to show Jack as he took back the gun and laid it on the bed.

"And here's the second half. I think you can figure out why I use this stuff."  
Jack held the box of ammo to his face and widened once more. It was a box of shotgun shells, but not any shells. They were slugs: a uniform projectile instead of multiple pellets. But these were not regular slugs. The box depicted a yellow projectile with a metal coat, and beside it was the same projectile on its side with the metal coat expanding into six sharp petals like a Spring flower. He leaned is head back in shock from the box art.

( _What kind of ammo is this?_ )

Wilson carefully fished his hand in the drawer again to pull out a typical shotgun slug and two of the yellow projectiles, one that has expanded and one that has not.

"Is this real?" Jack questioned again as he put the box of ammo with the shotgun and sat down with Wilson. Wilson opened his palm and began to explain why he used such an odd loadout for hunting.

"I'm fond of slugs because you can get much more distance with them, and they offer much more precision. I did some research, and I think I found my favorite ones, heh."

Wilson set the two yellow slugs down and pointed at the standard one in his palm.

"This is your everyday slug. Looks like a big bullet, right? Functions pretty much like one. Then I found out about these…"

He set the slug down and grabbed the unexpanded yellow slug.

"These are exotic. You'd be hard pressed to find a place that makes ammo like this, but I did. The company the makes this is far, far from Unova, but there are a few gun shops that stock these slugs to save me time and money. That company also makes different ammo, and I tried a few of 'em out before, but I'd say this is the best."

"So why go through the trouble of acquiring such weird ammo? Why not use a normal round?"

Wilson cleared his throat and settled in as he explained his affection for these slugs.

"First off, it's a great slug by itself; just about all of them are, really. Hollow point, solid steel, and encased in polymer. Besides, you wouldn't want to get hit by this thing, would you?"

Jack started to get a little tense in the conversation just thinking about being a target.

"I don't wanna get shot by anything."

Wilson pointed to the metal layer near the top of the slug.

"And this is where the real beauty comes in. See the metal strips? Look closely." Wilson then exchanged the slug in his hand for the expanded, ruined one. "The real power behind these slugs is when you hit something with them."

Jack's faced turned sour at seeing one of those squashed slugs up close in person. He shuddered at what it hit, Pokémon or not. Wilson continued to lecture about his ammo of choice.

"In addition to the primary projectile, you also have six secondary projectiles that expand and fragment into separate paths when you hit something. In total, you have one vast wound cavity where you aimed combined you have six smaller wound cavities surrounding it. That's seven individual wound channels and not even factoring in the shock from the initial hit. Good shots will absolutely punch through anything, from thick foliage to the hide of a Tyranitar, not that there's any of them up here. Even bad shots can still deal enough damage to vital organs to bring something down, and it's not like it's easy to dig out a piece of sharp metal smaller than pinky nail several inches deep in you. Combine this with the slam firing power of my shotgun, and nothing can give me trouble."

Jack was silent and incredibly impressed. He imagined one of these boring straight through his chest and having a few sharp metal petals veer into the heart or lungs. Let alone up to six in total.

( _Holy crap! I don't wanna get shot by_ _ **THAT!**_ )

"Trust me when I say that these slugs are what allowed me get my very own Ursaring rug. It sniffed me out, stood up and roared, and I shot it a few inches from the heart. But because these slugs expand, some of the fragments careened right into its heart to bring it down without any more fuss. If I were using any slugs, I would've been made into a rug instead."

A fierce wind blew against cabin; tree branches knocking into each other, winds pounding on the windows, and an icy gust rattling the door to steal away attention from ammo chatter. The grizzled grandfather turned his head curiously towards the door.

"Oh, that reminds me…" Wilson stood up and put the slugs and ammo box back into the drawer to get a red box of standard buckshot and a black box containing more orthodox slugs. He turned and looked at Jack, still sitting on the bed with admiration.

"Now, you still gotta ways to go before I'll let you use this in a real hunt. But for the time being, why don't we head out back to my shooting range and mold you into a proper shooter rather than talk about it? I can tell you other things about hunting in North Unova, but I know you're real eager in getting acquainted with your gear."  
Jack had a humongous grin on his face as he got up and grabbed Wilson's shotgun.

"Sure! Let's go before we get snowed in!"

The two men shook heads in thrilled acceptance. Jack ran back to grab his gun and some of his ammo as Wilson was already moving towards the door.

"Get your stuff; you should start with your own guns first, then you can move to mine. I'll set you up with buckshot and normal slugs for practice. Those slugs I just showed you are suited for when we go out hunting something more threatening than some paper and dummies."

Jack laughed at Wilson's joke and followed closely behind with the shotgun over his shoulder, feeling empowered again.

…Then Wilson opened the door and blasted both men with a sudden piercing mass of cold air rushing in. Being tucked inside such a toasty and protective cabin made Jack forget about the conditions outside.

"Brrrplplploofff!"

"Oh come on, Jack. That wasn't even a cold one."

 **[Author's note: I never do author's notes, but I figure that this is the perfect time for one. The guns are real: Wilson's is a Winchester Model 1897 and Jack's is a Thompson Center (T/C) Encore. Jack's encore is a line from Thompson Center's single shot weapons and is open for a lot of customization. You can get one chambered for nearly any caliber you can think of. Even better is that you can go from a pistol to a rifle, or a whole new cartridge chambering, in just a few tools and a few minutes. As for those exotic slugs with the expanding petals, they are in fact, real! They're made by a company called DDupleks in Latvia, and DDupleks also makes a whole bunch of unusual, highly effective shotgun ammo. You can find some of their ammo domestically in the U.S. as well. There's nothing like hunting in the dead of winter with a century-old styled shotgun with cutting-edge modern ammo for it in addition to a sleek, highly customizable single-shot rifle, eh?]**


	5. Chapter 5: Training and Temperance

The Sneasel runt somehow slept through the night after being told about such a frightening encounter with the hunter and explosive, deafening weapon. The Sneasel then curled upright and meditated on the story one of her pack mates told her last night. Her parents being obliterated by a tall, mysterious figure to leave her orphaned and at the mercy of the bullies in her pack? What became of their remains? And what if she encountered that monster? She didn't want to believe it. She did her best to mentally reject that small detail from her mind, only for it to come clawing back in when she tried. As sat balled up, she noticed that there was nothing left on the Sawsbuck barring hide and bones. The Sneasel's thoughts turned to the useless remains of last night's game. Drowsiness had left her. Evil thoughts had left her.

Hunger, however, did not.

The Sneasel tried to see if there were any scraps of meat left in dismay. It was as picked clean as you can get. She looked down and gave an audible, sad sniff accompanied with a mocking grumble of her stomach. Just before tears were about to leak out, she felt something placed on her shoulder. The Sneasel gasped and turned around, fully expecting to get punched in the face from the bullying alpha that loved to pick on her.

Instead, it was the one that told her the horrendous story last night. He had a thoughtful expression as he was fireman's carrying a dead Buneary with snow-white fluff and dark gray skin.

"I got something for you," the Weavile called as he hastily dropped the Rabbit Pokémon in front of the famished Sneasel and stepped aside with his arms crossed. Her eyes lit up in shock.

"For-For me?!" exclaimed the orphaned runt as she scrambled to the Buneary. Her optimism shrunk when she saw a deep gash trailing down from its forehead to its left eye, revealing a thing streak of bone underneath, with blood surrounding it. Since she never had to kill her own food, she was put off by the deathblow on its head. The sliced eye especially put her off.

"You still need to eat. I know the others don't let you feed like they do. They'll probably even beat me up if they caught me giving this to you. Sorry I couldn't bring back anything bigger. You're still part of this pack, anyway; you need your fair share."

She took a quick glance at the Weavile scout then back at the Buneary in indecision. She was seriously thinking about not eating any of it.

Then came another obvious rumbling deep within her gut.

"Want me to carve you some?"

The Sneasel looked down in silent embarrassment. The scout took it as a yes and carved out the best possible chunks of meat for her to eat. She was handed a sloppy fistful of Buneary meat to eat. Not that there was much of a gourmet or any sort of artsy butchering to be had with a juvenile rabbit Pokémon in the first place.

She took a small bite to taste test it, and felt stomach pains rise up from finally getting something to digest. That prompted her to scarf down the rest of it with almost no chewing. It tasted pretty bland and lean, but she was in no mood for complaining. That fistful of meat did the job of filling her just enough for the time being.

"Thank you," she spoke as she cleaned her paws and jaws of game juices. She couldn't help but start to think back to what he had told her as she hung her head in the air in guilt. Again the Weavile scout tried to console her.

"What's the matter?" he asked as he finished his own share of the Buneary.

"Those two you told me about, and that monster…"

The Weavile looked away in a pang of guilt for bringing it up as well. He brushed it off resumed eye contact with her.

"Listen, I can guarantee they would take any sort of fall if it meant you were okay."

The Sneasel did not find much comfort in his words. She wished that she was left ignorant of such a story. At least then she would not have another thing always pressing down on her.

The scout got her attention by placing his hand on her shoulder once more.

"Besides, they would be doing the same thing as I would be doing right now in taking care of you."

She swatted his hand off and turned her back in a pouty fit.

"And why should I still go on, huh? Everybody else just wants to just ruin me! Treating me like I'm not as valuable as the snow under our feet!"

The scout tried to step into her line of view to speak again but was countered by quick turns of her back and wandering away from him with crossed arms. He was racking his brain to think of any motivation to give her. And he got it. Words of passion were burning through his mouth to make the Sneasel look and stay on the brighter side.

"It's because quitting is not the solution here! How would your parents feel if you just gave up on everything after what happened to them!"

The Sneasel stopped in her tracks and stared at the snow in genuine consideration of what he just said.

( _After what they've been through… after what he told and did for me, telling me what happened to them and feeding me when nobody else would…_ )

"I can teach you how to hunt, fend for yourself, and be independent! You don't need to always be under the alphas' heels!"

( _That pitiful berry bush I turned to twigs and sawdust…_ )

"You can become one of them. Better than them!"

( _Better than them…_ )

The orphan drooped its arms and turned around to lock eyes with the jumpy Weavile scout. He had a very stern look on his face, the rough inspiration type of scowl that some of the other Pokémon would give in hard times.

( _He was always so jumpy and frightened. Now he's acting so high and mighty. And I would be letting him down… like my parents…_ )

"Look at me. Even you looked at me like a coward like the others, and look at how I'm acting now! Why can't the same apply to you?"

The scout's inspiration and tenacity were starting to infect her. She was weighing the actions of what happened to her in the past. Bullying, yelling, and being made to feel like a limp punching bag with no power over anything.

Becoming a hunter like the others and getting her fair share of whatever they kill or bring back to the others first, or continuing to sit in this bog of self-loathing and hate from the others?

For the first time, she felt truly motivated. Courage had started to seep into her and start to explosively grow from within.

The troubled orphan locked eyes with the Weavile and gave a single, wholesome nod.

"I'll do it."

The seriousness from the scout started to melt away and was replaced with joy. He felt the same type of force compelling him to change as well. There would still be hope for the Sneasel yet.

"I'm tired of being struck down. I want change. I'll learn how to be just as good as the others, if not better!"

* * *

At that moment, a chill wind blew through both of them and snapped them out of their little moment together. Both of them rubbed their forearms out of reflex from the wind chill, taking it as a token of training hard.

"A light breeze to set the mood," spoke the scouting Weavile, "let's start with something I'm very familiar with."

He walked turned to face a stout tree directly to his left.

"Do you know how to climb trees?"

"Nope. Is it hard?" asked the Sneasel who had the tip of a claw resting on her chin.

"It might be, but here's how I do it. Watch carefully."

The Weavile stretched his right arm back with his claws positioned flat like a board and dug it into the tree about four inches below his eyes. The sturdy wood made a stiff cracking sound, following by another claw stabbing the tree. This time it was about four inches above his eyes.

"The trick is to get a good rhythm and pace going," explained the scout as he squatted and hopped straight up into the air. He swiftly retracted his right arm and used the momentum of the hop to jam his right claw into the side of the tree again. Instantly he transitioned his right foot into the right arm's notch to take its place and acquire a better hold. The scout then pulled his left arm out of the tree and dug it into a higher location with his left foot embedded in the tree. Now, all four limbs were giving him support.

"Don't waste all your energy getting a hold on the tree. You'll need it for scaling it and getting back down safely."

The Sneasel watched the scout develop a steady pace of climbing the tree, mentally envisioning herself copying the movements. She was thankful that she was being taught something useful for once instead of learning that twelve slaps hurt more than eleven from the alphas. Soon the scout scaled about ten feet and swung over to a low hanging but thick branch to rest on.

"Now you try it. Go slow, it's not a race."

She swallowed to brace herself for climbing the tree. It couldn't be that difficult anyway, since trees do not fight back when you're trying to stab them.

The Sneasel noted the notches made by the scout's climb. She wondered if hers would fit in them and if she could just do an exact copy of his movements. Without further delay, the orphaned Pokémon hastily dug her claw into the same notch as the scout and pulled herself up to bury her second claw into the wood. The Sneasel underestimated the amount of force needed to make an entry notch and fell back first onto the snow from total failure.

The Pokémon brushed herself off and traded glances with the Weavile above, studying her every move.

"Don't be afraid to use some force. Some of the wood of these trees is harder than you might think. Try making your own notches."

This time she flexed and squeezed her palms to limber up and adopted and fighting pose.

( _Making a notch…_ )

She concentrated on the best way of going about starting to climb. The notches made by other Weavile wouldn't always be there for her to depend upon. A half-minute stare down between the Pokémon and the tree followed, with the former being at a mental block. She had to think of some way to ready herself.

"What are you doing?" called the scout above, "you can't just teleport yourself up here. How else are you going to get surveillance on the environment?"

The Sharp Claw runt shook her head side to side in disgust and started to file her claws against the wood of the tree. Since she didn't use them for anything outside of cutting out the barren berry bush, they needed to be readied. As she was buffering the tree with her claws, something nasty popped into her head. Mocking, hateful, degrading cries from the alphas started to rear their ugly heads once more.

" _ **You think I'm scared of you, wimp?**_ "

Those stunting comments were coming back at a terrible time.

" _ **Do you intend to stab me with those things, runt?**_ "

" _No, not again…_ "

Blinded by disgust, she pulled her left arm back, growled loudly, and punched the tree with her claws parallel with her arm. To both the surprise of both Pokémon, it made a decently deep notch for leverage.

"Oh, that's better." commented the Weavile from above. The Sneasel looked up with an offended and aggressive look on her face.

She took it as more sarcasm while being plagued by her nasty memories. And in accord with the opening notch, she dug her right arm a foot to the upper right. Her breathing picked up. She felt this type of power before when she was venting her frustration on the berry bush. Maybe it could be used to help her learn how to be a stronger Pokémon.

Powered by her anger, the Sneasel forced herself up the tree inch by inch, notch by notch without any breaks. Her breathing started to become increasingly laborious and sporadic during the climb. Each punch into the tree was in her mind a punch towards the alphas that had tormented her so much in the past. It fueled her determination to reach the top rank of not just the branch but to the ranks of her pack. Exhaustion was started to encroach, but she didn't want to stop; she _couldn't_ stop as she subconsciously raced up the tree a few feet above the Weavile scout.

"Hey," he called, "Hey! Don't go too far! It's too dangerous for you!"

Suddenly, the determined Sharp Claw Pokémon stopped. She caught her breath while clinging onto the side of the tree as the nasty, motivating thoughts disappeared. The Sneasel cocked her head down and to the right at a worried Weavile on a branch below her. She pulled her right side limbs out of the tree to help push off the side and jump onto the branch with a near-disastrous landing. The Weavile squeaked in shock and scooted back just in time to give her enough landing space.

"Listen, I know you have guts," the Weavile explained, "but this is still your first time doing stuff like this. If you get too ahead of yourself, you'll end up badly hurt."

The Sneasel continued to pant as she looked up at the Weavile with a sinister expression. She blinked and slowed her breathing as she gradually became more aware of what was going on. She looked around and down to the ground, where it ironically didn't look much different when she was on the same elevation.

"Well, at least now you're in a good spot to scan the landscape," commented the Weavile. "You can see much more from the treetops than on the ground. But, promise you'll take it slow from now on, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

The Sneasel apologized and said she would not get so ahead of herself ever again. And she meant it, too. Anger can be a great tool, but only in the short term. If it goes on for too long, the cons rapidly outweigh any potential pros. But if she could bottle it up and uncork it at just the right time…

The two Pokémon eventually climbed back down at their comfortable paces. It didn't take long until the scruffy Sneasel's stomach started to rumble once more. Those scraps of Buneary meat were quickly used up in waiting around and exerting so much force in climbing the tree. Her energy levels were reverted to when she first woke up.

" _Oooh…_ " she whined. The scout shook his head and sighed in disbelief. "Looks like that wasn't enough for you. I mean, it is not your fault. Climbing does take a lot of energy."

The Sneasel eyed the Buneary, noting that there was even less to pick from it now. Picking at it would probably make her even hungrier; the exact opposite effect of what she wants. She fiddled her claws together and hung her head low as she tried to seem like she was thinking of something important.

( _Why can't I just go back to fighting bushes? Maybe then I'll learn how to find and catch my prey…_ )

The beta Pokémon turned towards her mentor with a giddy smile on her face. Maybe she could finally learn something useful.

"Hey, are we done with climbing?"

"I guess so. I mean, unless you want to do it again." The Sneasel playfully turned her head, obviously influenced by arguably a much more critical skill.

"Well… if we're not going to keep climbing, maybe we can do something else. Like teaching me how to properly hunt."

He widened both his eyes in surprise. His eyeballs raced across the scenery, trying to think of an appropriate response for her as a soft wind whistled behind his ears. She was still inexperienced, but she had to know how to fend for herself eventually. But there was fire in the eyes hiding behind that grin. Doing something as instinctual as climbing a tree with her sharp claws seemed to have piqued her interest in living up to her reputation of being coldly cunning and efficient.

( _Oh, why am I even thinking about not doing it? Of course she needs it!_ )

The Sneasel's voiced grew starker as she flipped her grin upside down and questioned the scout a second time, "yes or no?"

"You'll have to sooner or later, so we may as well go with sooner."

The beta filled in immediately after his confirmation, "why don't we try a quick spar before we head out? To help loosen up."

The Scout was silent for a moment, hastily judging of it would be a good idea. He wasn't much of a fighter himself, but it would only be a practice session against this Sneasel. It wouldn't be that difficult.

"…Sure…" he reluctantly answered. Now the shots were starting to be called by Sneasel rubbed the edge of her claws against her chin in admiration and laughed under her breath " _this ought to be interesting…_ "

Flashbacks of slicing up the shrubbery played out in his mind like a fast forwarded movie reel. The fine details of the angle, speed, and position of where she cut up the twigs were highlighted. She didn't expend much energy for those slashes, and used the surplus energy of what those twigs would have required if they were flesh over to moving on to the next one. And then the next one, and the next one after that in an acceptably smooth motion. All conducted without any prior experience of doing so. Cockiness was starting to get to her good. If she could emulate it here against a quick fight against the scout, maybe she is a natural born alpha buried under ridicule and beatings after all. At the same time, this scout has no doubt has his fair share of tussles in the past. Both were overestimating how good they were at combat.

"Then," the Sneasel squeaked playfully with a mischievous grin and an improvise battle stance, "let us begin!"

* * *

Her partner balled up his fists and hopped in place to get ready for a practice session. He bared his fangs and shuffled around the Sneasel runt to look for an opening to strike. He gave a quick addendum to the rules with his eyes glued on the Sneasel.

"First to three successful hits and we are done. Only hits against the body will count; not claws. I don't want to make you waste any more energy, and I'll even go easy on you."

She didn't respond. The Sneasel had her eyes set on the scout, not wanting to let her guard down for a bit. Unlike the Weavile, she stood in place with her arms parallel to her mouth and eyeing the circling scout. He was sneaking closer, inch by inch, to her in plain eyesight; the beta Sharp Claw Pokémon punished him with a quick horizontal nick on his hip. The Weavile saw her attack and tried to leap back, but his concentration was falling behind and took the swipe on his hip; a brief wince confirmed that she made the first mark.

Her confidence doubled and the Weavile continued to press his strategy.

The Sneasel pivoted on her left foot and tried to go for a punch on his cheek when he came back closer, but caught this time. He swerved his head away from the fist aimed at his cheek and returned with a punch to her cheek. It carried much more force than a far-leaning nick on the hip. The Sneasel was stunned and hit with a second blow; this time an awkward kick aimed at her calf but going wide and tapped her calf with his heel. It was enough to knock her down closer to the ground with both knees touching the snow. The beta Pokémon closed her eyes and faked the pain.

( _He's tricky!_ )

"Two for me, one for you." he slurred with a quick hop behind her to deliver a third tap to end the session.

He let loose a mild cry with a chop using the dull side of his claws at her back. His chop came only inches away from finishing the session when the Sneasel sprung to her feet and retaliated with a broad chop clashing against his hand. The two Pokémon pressed the sides of their nails together for a split-second, one in shock and one with determination.

The Sneasel cut back on the pressure to elegantly slide her hand away from his. The lack of an obstruction made the Weavile's hand unexpectedly fall forward and he lost his balance. But there wasn't much obstruction on the Sneasel's end either. She grunted heavily and pushed the Weavile's hand up and off to the side, making him panic even more. To finish the counter, the runt leaned the rest of her body back and planted a firm kick flatly against her partner's chest to kick him back. He stumbled back terribly and fell on his right knee with his right side facing her.

"You…You catch on fast…" murmured the scout with heavy panting. "That was a perfect counter."

"One left for each of us, I wonder who'll take it?" she replied. The Sneasel viewed herself in the perfect position to get the final hit and come out on top.

The Weavile knew he was in trouble. He seriously did not favor the odds at the moment with the clawplay the two of them had got going. In his mind, she was right; this was hers to lose now. He kept a low scowl as the craftiness that the Sharp Claw Pokémon were known for was starting to manifest.

( _Most Sneasel and Weavile tend to prefer either claw attacks or ice attacks. If I challenge her claw to claw, I'll lose. However, if I can try using ice instead…_ )

A risky plan, no doubt. But going at her with claws was even riskier at this point. Even he had some pride, and he didn't want to lose this session.

His concentration was interrupted with wild swings and chops coming directly at him. He rolled out of the way and scrambled to fight to keep blocking the sporadic attacks to close the deal, narrowly. Enthusiastic cries came with every speedy motion from the Sneasel. The Weavile weaved around the attacks and clash claw against claw defensively. He noticed a subtle decline of speed from the Sneasel. All of the attempted finishing blows were tiring out, evident in it being easier to block them coupled with her voice starting to sound drained.

"Just- _huff_ -finish - _huff_ -it!" she screeched as she didn't let up her assault.

She pulled back her right arm and lunged forward with all her might at his cheek again. The Weavile swerved his head just like he did to avoid an earlier attack. He heard the crisp winter winds whizz past his ear and countered by spitting out a mouthful of solid, rough-edged chunks of ice right into the Sneasel's face. She whined as the spat chunks stung her face prompted by reflexively rubbing her eyes. The Weavile made his third strike with an aggravated chop right onto her nape to bring her face-down to the snow.

"And it's done!"

* * *

The Sneasel felt rejected, offended, and betrayed.

( _How could something like this happen? How? I had it! How!?_ )

She eventually raised herself from the snow with a thoroughly pissed-off face of scorn on her. She turned her head at the Weavile that just humiliated her by blinding her with ice and chopping her on the back of the neck. He had the stern "I had every right to do what I just did now" look.

"You!" she howled in disdain as she stood up and brushed herself off, "you cheated!"

"I didn't cheat. I just used whatever was nearby to help out." adamantly stated the Weavile. The Sneasel was infuriated at him trying to cover himself up, "By spitting snow at me!?"

Still feeling a bit disgusted with himself, he started to come clean about his dirty little trick.

"It was an improvised Ice Shard attack. If I had more time, I definitely could've spat bigger, sharper objects at you."

"What? That makes no sense!"

He dug his left hand into his mouth and fished out a half-melted pellet of snow that was tucked behind his teeth. He held it out to the angry and now grossed-out Sneasel who demanded a better explanation.

"When you went in for the third hit, I managed to scoop up some snow into my maw when I rolled away. When it was in my mouth, I started to whirl it around and mold it into compact projectiles. I spat them when I found the perfect opening in your movements. That allowed me to reach behind you and knock you down. We do have manipulation of the ice and snow around us, after all. And that is exactly what I did."

The Sharp Claw runt was taken aghast by his explanation. Something so _stupid_ to her slipped under her radar and worked. Her emotions were scrambling. Her pair of eyes was flickering about to find a comeback in the environment; pitiful, uncertain grunts slipped out of her throat in dismay. The Weavile grew a little guilty and tried to get her to look on the brighter side of things.

"Please don't feel bad about it." The Weavile consoled the Sneasel again. "You're great at physical, close up combat. If I continued to engage like that, I would've lost. But I had a backup plan. You know why this is, and we are all set apart from the others as they fear and hate us?"

The scout placed one of his nails to the side of his head and twisted it madly, close enough to twirl the fur but leaving the skin untouched, and with a devious simper to boot.

"Big brains. It is what makes us flexible, exactly like switching to attacking with ice projectiles instead of physical combat. It is also what gives us our drive to survive, and what allows us to adapt and overcome."

The Sneasel felt, but felt a little hurt by the comments about brains,

"I certainly do not feel like I have a big brain, how can I if I couldn't even beat you in sparring?"

The Weavile's voice switched to being more commanding to the troubled orphan.

"You do. Like with how you countered me when you were on your knees. I never saw something like that. It's tough for you to understand, but you truly have the potential to be something great."

"You… mean it, don't you? That even I have a big brain with big potential." She scratched behind her ears humbly. The Weavile nodded.

"Indeed. Your potential has already awakened, evident from these exercises. You just need to dig it out from the negativity the others heaped on top of it. Expose it to the surface and make sure it doesn't get submerged again."

The Weavile stopped himself midway when he realized something.

"In a way, it's been working with me as well."

The Sneasel gave a coy look and asked him, "But aren't you still paranoid and jumpy?"

The Weavile looked rather uncomfortable and answered reluctantly.

"I hate to say it, but yes. But, look at how we are now compared to last night or this morning. We've been improving each other! And it's like I said, it's mostly thanks to our brains and being able to express what they can do in combat or conversation. From quick, precise calculations on figuring out exactly where to stab, to the signs we carve into the sides of trees."

"It is what makes us _superior_."

The scout turned his back and took a dozen steps forward before stopping, leaving the Sneasel in awe in the snow. It was still hard for her to swallow, but was everything he said right? She couldn't think much more on this issue right now because the scout turned around and motioned to her,

"You still want to go hunting, right?"


	6. Chapter 6: Deerling Departed

So it was settled. The Sneasel beta and the Weavile scout would team up and continue their educational experience together. The Sneasel was already starting to get hungry from the climbing and spar session, but was well used to being on an empty stomach and suppressing her hunger pains. She could tough it out for the duration of this trip. In hindsight, the runt thought those sessions were fun in a weird way. Knowing that she could use it those skills later by herself and force others to respect her gave her a tingle in her belly.

The scout's paranoia also seemed to have been dashed away thanks to passing down his skills to a younger member of the pack for future contributions. That is, until he was starting to worryingly twist his head in the opposite direction every few steps. This bothered her a little bit and prompted her to ask more questions.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Cause… well, I'm still a scout. I'm supposed to always be on the lookout because anything can get the jump on you. You always have to be aware of your surroundings, because whatever you're after will, as well. With all of these trees, there are plenty of spots for Pokémon to hide and strike from."

The Sneasel took his comment at face value and followed his footsteps. They remained in silence for another minute. They stopped at the base of an evergreen tree with some of the lower branches knocked clear away to open with, along with large, lonely rock at its base.

"Ooh, what happened here?" the novice hunter asked.

"Probably a big power scuffle, seeing as the branches are nowhere to be found. But that leaves this nice, little opening, huh…"

The scout started to scratch something into the side of the evergreen. She questioned why he was doing it, but the scout ignored her until he was finished making the mark. The Weavile pulled back and let the Sneasel see what he was doing. She saw a weird, circular symbol with a few triangles hanging off it into the bark.

"Uhh, what's this?"

The Weavile explained that it was to help them keep track of where they were. There was plenty of land for them to roam upon, but all of it looked the same.

"We cannot afford to get lost from the others. That's why we make carvings into trees and soft stones, so we can remember where we've been. Don't worry, it's one of those things only we can get. Other Pokémon like a Stantler would never understand what it means. It's also a good way to keep your hands sharp, heheh."

The beta Pokémon waved off the explanation. The two- Pokémon party continued their hike through the snow lands until the trees were starting to thin and open to clear land ahead. The Weavile put his hand up abruptly to signal to his companion to stop. He found a thick cedar tree to his left that he could scale for a better view of what's up ahead.

"Stay here. We're nearly out of the woods and into the open, so I am going to see what's up ahead. Make sure we're alone, okay?"

She nodded and took his role for the time being. That distinct, icy punching sound rung in her ears again and grew fainter as the Weavile scaled the to settle on a snowy branch. He scanned the horizon; a massive pocket of open, snow-blanketed land with more trees off in the distant as far as any eye could see. A surprising amount of land could be seen with the lack of leaves or bushes from the brutal winter months. The land descended very gradually the further out it went, indicating that they were on the higher point. The only thing that stuck out amongst the white scenery was a dozen, clay and cream-colored figures moving as one.

It was a small herd of Sawsbuck, one, if not the, most common Pokémon in this section of northern Unova. There were exactly two Deerling, and the rest were Sawsbuck. Both Deerling stayed close to the front-most pair of Sawsbuck, presumably their parents, while the others did not appear to be of blood relations. The Weavile ponderously tapped his chin and hurried himself down to tell his partner the news.

"Alright. So, we are about to come to some open land, and we're not alone. There's a small herd of Sawsbuck up ahead, and there's a few Deerling with them. Since there are only two of us, we can only afford to go after one of the Deerling. Going up against one of the parents directly is not smart."

The Sneasel perked up at the information.

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem, right? I mean, they're stupid Pokémon anyway!"

The Weavile furrowed his brows and crept to the last line of trees before it led into the open. The Sneasel was right behind him, now able to see the family of Season Pokémon moving.

"Not quiet. Like us, they prefer strength in numbers, and they can get pretty protective. Sure, most of the time they'll just run away, but if it's mating season or they're trying to protect each other, they start putting up a fight. Trust me when I say those hooves and antlers hurt."

The Weavile paused and noticed that the herd was coming closer to their position, though oblivious to them.

"They're coming closer. We would have to find the one that's the weakest or most exposed, sneak up on it, then take it down and get out before they react. That is, if you want to take the risk."

The Sneasel pondered the issue. They were outnumbered, yet even she viewed the Season Pokémon as lowly and not much of a threat. But she had been listening to the scout all this time, why would she go against what he had to say about them? The runt crept closer and saw the herd as well.

One of the Deerling suddenly stopped and raised its head with a frightened expression to intermittently look for threats. It sniffed the air, smelling nothing out of the ordinary. It then peered to the approximate area where the two schemers were spying on them and stared straight ahead, not breaking its concentration or line of sight. Two tiny, dark objects were wedged in between the tree line, plotting against the herd unbeknownst to the Deerling. It shot a concerned glance at one of the front-leading Sawsbuck and bleated to it,

"Momma! Momma! I think I see something!"

The Sawsbuck faced its concerned Deerling child and asked what she saw.

"There! Over there by the trees! I don't think we should go there!"

Both of the parents stopped and focused their attention on the same approximate area of the perceived trouble. They too saw the vague objects, but what they really were failed to register in their brains.

"Are you sure you see something?" spoke the stalwart father. The other Deerling came by its panicked sibling's side from the commotion.

"Yes, I'm sure of it. Something is near!"

The ones that were looking at the Sneasel and Weavile pair looked on for a few more moments. The rest of the Season Pokémon continued, not caring about the so-perceived threat by the youngster. It wasn't long until the rest returned to their rhythm of walking and grazing when necessary, except for the father figure and the other Deerling.

"Oh, my daughter," cooed the mother Sawsbuck to her distressed fawn, "there's nothing to be afraid of here. We will protect you as long as you stand by our side. Please, do not worry about such things. I assure you it was nothing, sweetie." The mother nudged her fawn and gave it some warm licks on the face to cheer it up. The father Sawsbuck grew a little disapproving towards the others' attitudes.

"What if she is right and there is something out?"

The other Deerling silently agreed with his father. The mother looked up with a stern face and the female fawn looked onward with fear again.

"Oh, hush you. You're always so arrogant and worried something might happen. Well, nothing happened back then, so why should we be worried now? There was nothing there to begin with. You need to relax more, dear."

"No!" retorted the father Sawsbuck, "That's not the point! She might have really…er… there might, gah! Forget it!" He gave up in frustration. He viewed himself as the smarter of the two parents, but his mate was stubborn and never listened to any of his advice or warnings. Surprisingly, when things could've gone differently if she heeded him, she still didn't consider hearing him out. Especially in cases like this where they would be easy pickings for any potential predators nearby.

Nonetheless, as herd leader, he took a slightly different path away from the trees to help the rest steer clear of any threats, invisible or not. The rest followed as the two Sharp Claw Pokémon plotted their next move. Both of them realized that the uppity Deerling seemed to not stay as close to the group as the others. She immediately became an attractive target for the two, crafty Pokémon. The runt suggested that they focus their attention on the weakest link of the herd.

"We can probably go after that one. It seemed pretty skittish anyway, and it doesn't look _too_ formidable." The scout agreed, but raised the question, "What's our actual plan, then?"

The Sneasel tapped her foot on the snow to think of a solution while keeping sight of the herd of Season Pokémon. The herd was heading away from their position thanks to the finicky fawn tattling on them. However, they did not appear to fully understand what was in that spot because they were still going at the same pace they were before. The Pokémon duo's cover wasn't blown yet. The scout spoke up with a partial plan,

"Maybe you should leave the actual fighting to me."

The Sneasel agreed with his reasoning, but wondered what she could do to help.

"But what could I do? I still need to help you, right? Maybe…" She abruptly stopped, grinned, and covered her mouth to muffle childlike giggling upon thinking of the perfect plan,

"I can distract them while you move in for the kill! Sounds good, doesn't it?" The scout was highly interested in her proposition; stunned, even, at a novice coming up with something so sound so swiftly!

"Are-Are you sure? I mean, it could work out, but I'm worried about you."

The novice hunter gave her apprentice a solemn nod with her grin still shining through.

"You said I had to learn eventually, right? So I wanna learn something about hunting. And do you have any better ideas?"

"All right, fine." The scout conceded and resumed stalking the herd of Season Pokémon as he laid out the details for the attack.

"Once we get close enough, you will sneak behind them and make some noise, a ruckus, anything to get their attention. While you distract them, I'll sneak in and try to bring down that Deerling closest to us with a single blow. Neither of us is as experienced as the alpha hunters, we're outnumbered, and they are going to get protective because of that. We only have one shot at this, so I'll try to make it count."

* * *

The Sneasel was getting giddy hearing the plans on her first actual chase with the only member of her pack that wasn't a complete jerk to her. They followed the herd amongst the outer rim of trees, noting every move they made, especially their intended target detached from the other Sawsbuck. They halved the distanced between them and the pack. Then came the familiar, daunting sound of the Sneasel's stomach rumbling. Luckily it was impossible for any of the prey Pokémon to hear it, but the rumblings made her realized something: isn't the point of this to get food, the body of their prey? She tapped on her mentor's shoulders to ask him the most important question of this ordeal with a dependent, nervous expression,

"How are we going to eat it?"

The scout went wide-eyed and buried his face in his palm on forgetting such a small, but crucial detail. He cursed under his breath and took another peer at the Sawsbuck and Deerling.

( _We can definitely bring it down, but I don't think I can do it instantly. Plus there's more of them than us…_ )

"We might have to give this one up, sorry to say." The Sneasel looked deflated and asked what he meant.

"I might be able to wound it, and it will surely die, but I don't think I can do it on the spot. We're going to have to do a hit and run. There's just too many of them. They'll gore us if we stick around to eat that annoying fawn."

"You mean, we won't be eating the Deerling we're after?" she asked, feeling very upset.

"Unfortunately, yes." He locked eye contact with her to keep her focused, "but, why turn back now? So what if we don't recover it? Heck, I'll admit it is more fun killing our prey than eating it, or ugh, hauling it back. I know it's hard because you haven't eaten much recently, but you don't want to turn back, do you?"

The small Sharp Claw Pokémon reluctantly agreed again with her guide. It sucked for her since she was looking forward to getting a good meal out of this, but understood why they had to resort to a hit and run strategy. She croaked out a disgusted "fine" and realized that the group they were after was had stopped to graze on the grass underneath the layers of snow. She gasped and ditched moaning about not eating it afterward.

"Oh, I think this is our moment!"

"Go, go!" ushered the Weavile as he readied his nails to puncture through a weak spot on their prized Deerling prey. The Sneasel took off and headed for the rear of the herd to initiate their plan.

( _I can't believe it, actually contributing to something for once. So what if we can't eat it? It'll come eventually, I'm sure of it. Now, just gotta get their attention!_ )

The Deerling and Sawsbuck group halted to have a quick snack on the grasses hidden under their feet. Handfuls of snow were sifted from their feet as they worked their small mouths on the ground. The skittish Deerling followed suit with the others and found only dead or stubby grass where she was. She bleated to her parents again even more annoyingly,

"Mooooom! Why is there no grass to eat here? Where is it! The others are finding some! It's not faaaaiir-ugh!"

The mother doe sighed and tried to reassure her fawn that there was edible grass in other spots. She advised her to keep her nose to the ground and actively dig around to find it. And so the Deerling did. It was happily occupied with shoveling snow in a straight line and not stopping until she found a tasty patch of hidden grass. None of the Season Pokémon seemed to remind her of the potential warnings of predators, nor did they even seem to remember the leading buck's warnings. It all played into the hands of the Sharp Claw Pokémon.

The Sneasel snuck as close behind the herd of Season Pokémon as she could without getting spotted. All she had to do was draw attention away from the more combat savvy Weavile she was working with, after all. And her kind is known for their speed, so bailing shouldn't be problematic if everything gets screwed up. She managed to get about thirty feet from the rearmost member of the herd before it jerked its head up and stared at the Pokémon that had her kind dominate the icy plains. It was her cue to officially be as obnoxious and obvious as possible.

* * *

"Hey! Hey! Look at me! Over here!" screeched the Sneasel to rouse more ears and eyes to her location. She squatted down, scooped up some snow, and flung it as hard as she could at the few that didn't perk up at the sudden voice behind them. The Sawsbuck and Deerling raised their necks from the ground to stare at the mocking Sneasel, now flailing her arms and making intimidating howling, for a Pokémon like her, to hold their attention. Some were idly chewing their freezing cud while watching, while others took it as a challenge and approached closer with heavy stomps.

"That's right! That's right! Look at me! Am I interrupting you? Look at me you dumb deer! Can you even hear me with those antlers stuck on your faces?" She continued to toy with the grazing Pokémon, especially the father figure at the front. He became more agitated with every insult hurled by the Sneasel. The big buck was stomping towards the teal-furred troublemaker to challenge her. It only left the annoying Deerling even more isolated from the rest, subconsciously beckoning the scout to rush in and punish it for being so badly out of position.

"And who are you to spit at and mock us," haughtily bellowed the Sawsbuck, "when you are alone, _nuisance_?"

Her bait was working perfectly.

"Nuisance?" asked the Sneasel with a conniving grin, "What, are you scared of me? You should be!"

The Sawsbuck replied with a ferocious, grunting snort-wheeze, scaring the daylights of the Sneasel. The Sneasel was beginning to second guess her decisions up to this point.

"I think it's the other way around," ranted the father figure. "Look at yourself, for you are all skin and bones. Your kind is nothing but trouble! You are cowardly without your numbers, and when you do have numbers, all you do is kill the others, sometimes out of boredom! You should be the one scared, for you are weak without your numbers. How can your kind look down upon us when one cannot even fend for itself?"

The situation was now being controlled by the Sawsbuck, making the Sneasel creep back with every step he took closer to her. She was rightfully scared of him; he was much bigger, could do intimidation much better than she could, and her claws would be nothing against his horns. She was nearly scared stiff but caught a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye. It could best be described as a phantom racing across the snow without any sound, exactly like the obscured image of a startled fish gliding underneath the surface of murky water. The phantom was the scout she teamed up with closing in to punish the isolated fawn that nearly ruined the entire effort. All the while, the Sawsbuck continued to bark at the Sneasel. He stomped the snow and lowered his head with a bullish snort.

"You are nothing but noise!"

She giggled. She chuckled. She started to cackle at her plan working out so well in their favor while pointing at the gruesome act about to fulfill it. The big buck was befuddled at the Sneasel going from cocky to frightened to cocky again. But he discarded it, thinking it was just more proof of the Sneasel and her relatives being nothing but a net loss. The Sawsbuck started to do a low charge at the laughing Pokémon when she brazenly called out,

"I think you should think again!"

* * *

Right as she said those words, her partner swooped in close enough and threw himself towards the isolated, whiney Deerling with exposed claws. He let off a heavy grunt right before attacking, making his target crouch in terror and look at the oncoming Sharp Claw Pokémon just in time to see, and feel, her attacker. He committed to a straight lunge and buried his left claw right in the front half of her torso, directly behind her right foreleg.

To the Season Pokémon, the Deerling let off a soul-shattering, agonizing " _Beleeeyaaaah_!" To the Sharp Claw Pokémon, it was a cry of dominating satisfaction, natural to such predators, knowing their prey would soon fall. Multiple Season Pokémon were too spooked to do anything but scatter and sprint off in random directions. They didn't have thoughts of helping their wounded friend. Instead, the fleeing Pokémon only had thoughts of instinctual, clumsy, selfish self-preservation by running away.

This especially included her mother that tried to coo her into believing there was nothing to be afraid of.

The Weavile's hand effortlessly pierced some vital organs as he twisted it counter-clockwise and plowed it downwards to inflict the maximum amount of damage in his one attack by cleaving through more skin and widening the wounds. The Weavile cleaved his claw all the way down to the lowest point of her torso from his angle, carving an open channel vertically through the Deerling. When it broke through the outer skin on the bottom, the Weavile's hand started to plummet to the snow from the excess force, wounding the back of the Deerling's leg in the process, as the Weavile tore away and made a beeline back to the trees. It was an astoundingly impressive hit.

The Sawsbuck realized what the mocking Sneasel was doing all along and stopped in his tracks. He turned around to catch the very end of the Weavile's attack to watch him retreat just as quickly as he entered the fray. She wasn't going to challenge him, let alone of them. She was a distraction. The whole ploy was bait.

Bait he readily swallowed to allow the Sneasel's real plan unfold.

He was infested with terror, hatred, and an ultimate feeling of foolish helplessness of knowing that his daughter was condemned to die. All because of he left her in an attempt to defend her. The worst part was that it would be a slow death, as the Weavile had no intentions of sticking around and longer. As slow as a day is long.

"Bail, bail! Quick!" the scout barked at the Sneasel to disengage now that it was over. She ran with to her mentor to follow him back to the safety of the tree line, fueled by nothing more than sudden excitement and adrenaline.

The Deerling tried to sprint like the adults in the same whirlwind of panic. Running only caused more of her life essence to squirt out of her wounds to hasten her inevitable passing. She collapsed not even five seconds of full-on sprinting later and thrashed about on the snow. The father trotted to her location, trying to think of any way to help her. It was too late. The Deerling's eyes bulged and her legs kicked on the ground in a vain attempt to keep running, but she was slowing down. She further thrashed at seeing a vague image her father approach her to waste even more energy. A bit of gurgling went on in her throat as her world and mind went dark, followed by the rest of her system shutting down. The Sawsbuck breathed heavily in grieving shock and looked up to see the Sharp Claw fading into the distance behind the looming trees.

He swore through grieving breathing that they would pay gravely for taking his daughter's life.


	7. Chapter 7: A Taste of the Action

The two Pokémon ran as far as they could back to the tree after leaving the Deerling to die. Strained painting was following closely as both of them stopped to catch their breaths and have a much-needed talk. The Sneasel was so tired that she fell flat on her bottom. However, she had a playful grin while pumping the glacial winds in and out of her body, complete with a madly beating heart of excitement.

She also felt light headed… in a good way. She felt a mere spark of something within, desperately trying to claw its way from the surface and explode. She never expected to be the decoy in a two- Pokémon hunt to be so…fascinating. To be so _intoxicating_ especially for a young one like herself. That talk about potential seemed more legitimate with every passing second as she replayed the scene of seeing the Deerling get mortally wounded from the scout, only envisioning her dealing the blow all by herself, again and again and again…

( _Wow… it could be THAT fun and awesome. No wonder the others make such a big deal out of it. Taunting that dumb deer and seeing the younger one get stabbed and trying to flee, only causing it to bleed and kill itself faster through its shock…_

 _I gotta ask him when we can do it again!_ )

"So… what did you think?" spoke the scout, interrupting her daydreams. The Sneasel gave a delayed response, still relishing the moment.

"It was… it was…" she muttered through her breaths, and slowly making her grow a grin from ear to ear,

"AMAZING!"

The scout didn't expect her to sound so enthusiastic over their hunt.

"Wha—it was that fun to you?"

She dusted off snow from her coat and went on and on about how she loved every moment of it.

"Of course! Like, did you even _see_ that Sawsbuck try to be so scary to me?" The scout couldn't help but reason against her, though not trying to rain on her parade.

"But… you jumped when he snorted at you. You were scared of him, like you thought things would not turn out as well as they did."

The Sneasel looked surprised for just a moment, but laughed it off.

"Pssshaw! I only _pretended_ to be afraid of him so you would have a better time getting close to that stupid fawn! Boy, did you hear that Deerling _cry_ so loudly when you hit it? Hah! Being able to recover it would have been nice, but it was so fun that I don't even care! When are we going to do this again!?"

Her enthusiasm started to wear on the scout. He didn't bother answering, though it did not have much of an impact on her mood. The first moment both of them were capable of getting back to walking, he took it in a flash. He did think that her enthusiasm over the hunt was a little…overboard. She was still young, naïve, and had a long way to go. At the same time, it was helpful for both of them finding out it was something she genuinely enjoyed doing, even as a small part. Doing a job gets a lot easier if it's a job you don't mind doing, let alone actively seeking to do it in your free time. Perhaps her potential could fully blossom later in her life to be the alpha hunter she always desired to become. It would just need to be fully unearthed by exposing her to more of the ugly side of nature, playing into her kind's favor of course.

Before the two Sharp Claw Pokémon hit the trail, the scout decided to carve another symbol on a nearby tree with his clean hand. He picked a thin one, thicker than an average birch tree, and went to work. This symbol took nearly half as long, for it was just a sloppy circle with lots of spikes jutting out of it. It was their way of telling others that an earlier group did hunting on these grounds nearby, and whatever prey Pokémon were involved probably weren't in the area anymore. Once the Weavile finished carving the symbol, he gave a quick streak of cool blood across the symbol and stepped aside and explained what it meant.

"Well… whatever you say. Do we have do this?" questioned the Sneasel, obviously not as enthusiastic over carving wood as carving up meat.

"It's so others don't waste their time trying to find prey, only to later realize its vacant because another party already tried this ground. With the blood, there should be no problem in others figuring it out. Also, it's always a good thing to know exactly how to find your way back, and these signs act as a guide for that. A little communication goes a long way."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged it off.

So off they went, back to their current home of the cave at the base of the mountain, with the Weavile leading the way as usual. The scout tried to stay focused on any landmarks he silently noted in addition to their footprints. It was doubtful something was stalking the stalkers, but when it came to him, he could never be too cautious. It only took a few minutes of backtracking before they came across the twin trail of footprints they made to get to where they were.

"Ah, making progress!" rejoiced the Weavile as he went from a walk to more of a happy skip. Now all they had to do was follow their own footsteps. Easy enough, for the Sneasel, that was. The scout had to deal with constant badgering from her about hunting,

"When are we going to do this again? Are there others we can hunt? Can we bring more with us so we can take on something bigger? Well? Huh? Eh?"

The Weavile sighed and tried to get her to stay quiet.

"Listen, we got to focus on one thing at a time. We'll do this again soon enough, but we need to at least return to the others and tell what happened. And you're still young and inexperienced; there's a lot more to it than making noise and having your partner stab it in the back. If I decided not to join in, what would you have done alone?"

That made the Sneasel shut her mouth and reflect on the scenario.

( _That Sawsbuck was kinda scary… and that fawn was pretty far away from where I was. I couldn't have fought it, could I_?)

"You would've taken the fall instead or bailed empty-handed, wouldn't you?"

"…Er, yeah. You're right." The Sneasel's face flustered with embarrassment. Perhaps she would start taking things more serious from now on. She wouldn't always have a partner to rely on to feed herself and thin the ranks of other Pokémon. That brought her to another question, "How often do we hunt alone?"

"Not often," he answered with a much better mood, "we're a lot better working together than on our own. Five is the average, four maybe if we get desperate or if there's a lot of us. I'm not saying we're incapable of doing stuff by ourselves, just that we're way better as a coordinated team. You could still probably kill a young Buneary or Rattata if you got the jump on it. Anyway, we're not that far away, I think. Let's hurry up."

The runt scratched her ears and held onto this information for the rest of the way home.

( _I always had to depend on others, so I should learn some ways on how to depend on myself. Couldn't hurt even if I stick with a team…_ )

The rest of the return trip went by quick, and the two Sharp Claw Pokémon returned to their home. By now, the snowflakes got heavier and started to come down faster from the slabs of clouds that hung over the landscape. She took this as a bad omen for she realized the terror that awaited her at the end of their return home.

( _Those bullies! They're probably waiting to find out where I was to pummel me again! Oh… Oh no…!_ )

The beta Pokémon grabbed the scout's arm to try and stop the two of them from proceeding.

"Stop! What if they find me?"

"What do you mean, 'they'?"

The Sneasel's attitude took a hundred and eighty-degree turn and started to gnaw on her nails. All of her power fantasies evaporated, and what was left was a vacuum of despair.

"Those… bullies. The ones that always beat me up! What if they do it now? Will you protect me? Please!"

The scout found himself in yet another difficult situation with the beta Pokémon. This time, he truly had no advice or any response at all. He looked down at the snow on the ground, gave it a tempered kick, and continued. The Sneasel shrieked in defiance,

"We're not going to confront them, are we!?"

She had no choice but to follow the leader against her wishes. There was no way she could fend for herself alone. And there was no way she could find her way back once she got far enough away from her pack's residence. Mentally revisiting the scene of the Deerling getting attacked did little to comfort her. In fact, it served the opposite purpose; what if that Deerling was her, and her attacker was the gang of alphas that always pushed her around for the heck of it? The Sneasel continued to pout over the possibility of yet another punching bag session. The runt followed deathly close behind the scout, hoping to use him as cover.

It was just as she feared. The five of the fiercest Weavile in her pack formed a circle to figure out where she and her mentor went. One of them turned around and pointed to their arrival with an attentive call. The rest of the Sharp Claw Pokémon turned to face the Sneasel and one of their fellow scouts, silently scolding him for the crime of daring to help one of their kind.

" _Heh, they're gonna get it big time_!" whispered one to another as the alpha stepped forward, clearly unhappy with how things were going this morning.

"So!" barked the alpha to demand attention, "where have you two been, especially _YOU_!? Last I heard, you two were fighting? Then you disappear and come back later. I don't understand it. And why is there blood on your hand? Come on, say it out loud! I want an explanation!"

The scout stood up for the runt and did his best to convene with the alpha politely.

"I was teaching her things. We were sparring earlier this morning. Then we decided to go as a two Pokémon team for a short hunt. We found a herd of Deerling and Sawsbuck and decided to attack them. She formed a perfectplan; she distracted them and I snuck in and attacked one of them. That's why we were gone, and why my hand is dirty."

He tensed up his eyebrows and pointed directly at the scout, hissing at him again,

"So you took her with you? Do you even know what could've happened out there!?"

"I'm a scout. I'm always aware of what's going on. We knew the risks and did it anyway, and we turned out fine."

The Sneasel parted herself from the Weavile speaking for her and spoke courageously,

"We're still in one piece and I learned something from my first hunt, so what is your problem?"

The alpha looked gravely offended at being challenged. He opened his mouth just a little to try and scream out a rebuttal, but fully believe what the scouting Pokémon told him. He couldn't erupt into screaming and lash out like he and his followers always did. A low, cruel hiss emanated from the back of his throat, "You…"

He pushed the runt for speaking up for herself. The Sneasel swatted away the alpha's hand, making him _furious_. He monstrously growled, balled his fist, and raised it to punch her right in the face. The scout took action and wedged himself in-between the two quarreling Pokémon with one palm on her chest and the other stopping the Weavile's fist to desperately try to calm the situation despite losing his own cool.

"She's just a child! She learned a lot of crucial skills today! What's wrong with her learning how to hunt and fend for herself?!"

The alpha's followers were taken aback. As much as they would love to let loose and pummel their two fellow Pokémon, they couldn't. They partially agreed with the scout's story, reluctantly. There would be plenty of hell to pay if any more fists were flying, and that would obviously not be good for the rest of the pack. The alpha scowled at the scout with an evil visage before ultimately withdrawing his arm. Now unrestrained, he pulled the scout closer to his face by the collar and whispered,

" _Don't –ever- do this again_."

The alpha pushed the scout off and turned away. His cronies followed, some with faces of fear, others with faces of reconsideration. The Sneasel was shaking and whimpering by the end of it. She may have staved off another pummeling, but it was _not_ pleasant at all.

"Thu—Th-T…Thanks for standing up for me," the shaken runt mewled. The scout told her to not worry about it and massaged her right shoulder with his clean arm. It made her feel a tiny bit better.

"I hate him. I hate him so much…no wonder my parents left me…"

"No no no," interjected the Weavile to snap her out of her guilt trip, "you'll get over this. You'll be the better leader one day, I promise. You have the most potential here out of all of us, and you'll definitely be the strongest one."

She sat down and rested her chin on her knuckles. Guilt started to wash over her.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this…"

The scout humbly shook his head and answered, "There's nothing to feel ashamed over. You're not the only one who has to put up with them." He tried to concoct a plan to cheer her up again. That's when something wily formed in his head.

"Would you be interested in tagging with me again? I think I know of something that'll we'll both like."

The Sneasel's ears twitched in curiosity. She gave him his full attention, wanting to hear more about what he had to say.

"Well, a few days ago I found a Pidgeot making a nest in a tree not far from here. It either looked like a well-fed male or a pregnant female from how its stomach looked, most likely female. In that case, that means there will be eggs in that nest soon. How about we team up tonight and pay that Pidgeot a visit, especially its eggs? You can put those climbing skills to good use and give your tongue a treat."

The runt grew ecstatic at hearing such a delightful proposition. The Sneasel remembered the first time she ate a Pidgey egg that her parents scavenged. It was _heavenly_ , probably the best thing she ever ate! It tasted so good, and she was so happy back then from snacking on it! It made her want to live off Pidgey eggs, and curious about trying different Pokémon eggs to see how they compared, but alas. That opportunity never came… until now.

She beamed with joy and refilled confidence. It almost sounded too good to be true, and hopefully he wasn't pulling her leg.

"I would love to! I love eggs! I haven't had any in too long! Mmm, so rich and gooey."

"All right, we'll leave right around dusk. Hang tight until then, okay? Maybe we can practice climbing in the meantime. Those eggs aren't going to fall in our hands by themselves, but they may as well! Hah!" The Weavile chuckled with pride, feeling some of the Sneasel's jubilance rub on to him. Both of them really wanted to do it anyway, but more so her. Both could hardly wait until nightfall came around.

* * *

Elsewhere, similar training was occurring far off from the two scheming Pokémon's location. It was much more sophisticated with several targets of the common game Pokémon in the area showing details of their internal anatomy, some already ridden with holes. Each target was spaced out about ten yards from each other, and all were staring down a robust, reinforced shooting bench about twenty yards away. On the bench was a simple gun rest, looking a bit like a grotesque vice grip, which could be adjusted to fit many guns of similar size for the best possible accuracy. Next to it was a large tray used to conveniently grab cartridges after they spilled out from their boxes. It was Wilson's personal shooting range. He and Jack would spend some time sharpening their marksmanship before going on an official hunt, for Pokémon put up a much better fight than still cutouts.

The two men walked to the firing range, accompanied by the crisp crunches of compacted snow and empty cartridges under their feet. Jack carried the guns while Wilson brought the ammunition and some hearing protection for them. Jack was surprised at how heavy firearms could get, even more so by the number of casings he stepped over, only further cementing how much of a gun nut Wilson was…

( _Damn_ , _he does a lot of shooting. How does he pay for this?_ )

He set both of the firearms down on the table, followed by Wilson setting aside the ammo they were going to use with and the ear protection.

"Firearms get pretty heavy, eh? It is a great way to build character and muscle for you." Wilson joked setting up to go shooting out in the frozen countryside while his son put on his ear protection. Jack shrugged and did his best not to shake terribly, for he was still not used to being out in such extreme temperatures. Wilson cracked open the box of .308 rounds and tested Jack about his gun.

"I'll be honest, I got one of these because I think they're slick, you can customize them well, and really, not much can go wrong with it. Still, I think the caliber I have will do me just fine. Can I take a few shots with it?"

Wilson asked if Jack wanted to use the gun rest, to which he declined. He then gave him approval for Jack to put a few rounds through his Encore. Additionally, he gave his grandson some pointers when shooting in the cold, whose words were barely slipping past the plugs.

"You'll want to hit the vitals, preferably their hearts or lungs. Aim right at the top joint of its forelegs, for that's where they keep most of their organs. Do not go for headshots unless it's a female, even if we are the only two guys out here. If it's on a male, you'll ruin the trophy and probably cause it more pain than you otherwise would've. They have thick skulls for a reason, and it's not uncommon for one to run around days after it took a bullet or arrow to its head."

Jack kept silent and scarcely adjusted his scope, still unable to see what or where the heart was. He grabbed a round, shoved it in the chamber, and then snapped it shut. His thumb went down on the hammer, making a series of soft clicking noises, and took aim through his scope. He could see a much more detailed image of the Stantler target and moved the reticles around to see the surrounding organs. He saw a small splotch of magenta stick out against the rest and thought if that was the heart. There was only one way to find out as the novice pressed the rim of the scope against his eyebrow and took aim. It wasn't easy to line up a straight shot in the cold, especially as the anxiety grew as Jack slipped a digit over the trigger to give it the nudge it needed to trip the trigger and fire the round. In his mind, it was a real, breathing Pokémon that would collapse once the bullet made its mark. The novice took his finger off the trigger to flex it, held a deep breath from a passing, chilly wind, and pulled the trigger.

 _-BANG-_

A nanosecond-lived flash of light, tempered recoil throwing the rifle back into his shoulder, and a sudden, lingering crack of sound ushered forth. The bullet already went down range and embedded itself in the target before Jack even started to process what just happened. With the shot made, Jack pressed down on the topside of the barrel to break open the action and manually extracted the casing to throw on the ground, emanating traces of smoke.

"Looks like it went high wide to the left," commented Wilson. Jack turned his head to Wilson and asked where the shot went.

"Well, we better go and find out, shouldn't we?"

The two of them got up and walked over to the Stantler target to find out where the bullet went. Jack squatted down and ran a finger over the heart and felt no dips or creases until he ran it on the outside area of the organs and felt a small depression. There was a small hole about a third of an inch in diameter a foot to the right of the heart drawn on the target.

"Huh, that's odd," inquired Jack as he stood up and looked at Wilson.

"Well, you were noticeably shaking back there, and you haven't shot it much to begin with," followed Wilson.

( _Well yeah, it's not like I can control the wind and how cold it gets…_ )

"Trigger's pretty smooth," said Jack trying to change the topic subtly, "damn good trigger pull at that. But that's not everything to making good shots." Wilson came closer to inspect the bullet hole, turned his attention to the heart Jack was aiming at, and then ultimately turned his attention to him to speak.

"But this is obviously not a kill shot. I don't know what happened, but somehow the bullet went far to the right. You'd take a chip out of its shoulder blade at best. Are you sure it's zeroed in at this distance? We're at thirty yards."

Jack looked at Wilson like he had no idea what he meant, then understood a big reason why he might've missed.

"Oh, whoops. I'd better do that now. It's easy to forget some things like that."

Jack jogged back to the firing table with his rifle deep in his clutches to adjust the scope. He figured that the scope might not have been set up correctly, for there was a big difference between shooting it at an indoor range with proper heating compared to long stretches of land in the snow. At the shooting table, he sat down and tried to line up the same shot, instead with his right-hand fiddling with the knobs on the scope instead of fiddling around the trigger. It was difficult to tell any difference, and maybe it was time to use that weird gun rest for optimal accuracy checks.

Wilson noted Jack's constant readjusting of the dial and breaking his face away from the scope to stare downrange. He gave a pitiful sigh and offered to help his grandson.

The grizzled veteran took his apprentice's rifle and laid it down on its side for now. Instead of zeroing in the scope, Wilson toyed with the gun rest until it was at the perfect size for containing the Encore. The weapon was propped up straight and Wilson tightened the rest for an exact fit.

"Now you can do it," spoke Wilson, "try a few more shots then we can try my shotgun."

Jack sat down and finished zeroing his scope, realizing what a difference having a good place to rest it made. He grabbed a handful of rounds to keep close to the gun and loaded one up. Jack took aim at the heart with much more confidence and gave the trigger a quick squeeze. The same sound, flash of light, and recoil happened, though it wasn't as bad as the first time, now he was prepared for it. Jack kicked out the empty casing and loaded a new one in its place. As he looked downrange yet again, he saw a mere, discolored speck on the heart. He had a smirk on his face as he pulled his face away and told his grandfather about it.

"I hit it! I actually hit it! Went a teeny bit higher than I thought, but it's a kill right?"

Jack got up and let Wilson look through the scope. Wilson saw the same flared tear on the target that Jack did and traded places with him once more.

"Yep, that's a kill shot. Took off the top of the heart, but it'd bring down a Pokémon like that nine times out of ten."

Jack took a few more shots at the heart; some hitting the surrounding lungs in what would be a double hit, others went a bit low and would've missed entirely, and at least one made the original mark. Jack stopped after the seventh shot to conserve his ammo. Not counting the first shot that went hilariously off-target, it was an acceptable spread of bullets for the shooter.

"Not bad," complimented Wilson, "there may be a hunter in you yet."

Jack took the Encore off the stand and asked if he could try out Wilson's shotgun. Wilson shot a quick glance at his most beloved weapon and pondered on the issue of Jack being ready for it yet.

"Are you sure you wanna handle this?" Wilson said a bit playfully, though still concerned if it will be too much for the novice shootist. Jack had a grand smile and assured his grandfather that he would be able to handle his gun.

"I have to know what it feels like anyway up here, so it'd be only natural that we would do it here, right? Besides, it won't be that bad! I promise! I GOTTA know what it's like!"

Wilson puffed out frosty air and motioned to Jack on how to operate the 1897. He ran the pump slide back a few times to confirm that it was unloaded, and then Wilson ran it all the way back. The bolt poked out of the back while the carrier assembly hung off the bottom set to elegantly machined clicking sounds. To Jack, it somewhat resembled a comical open mouth trying to speak.

His grandfather ran the pump all the way forward again and demonstrated how to load it up.

"We'll use buckshot to get you started, and we might do a slug if you're on your best behavior." Wilson grabbed a red shell and pushed it into the cutout on the bottom of the gun, a perfect fit for the projectile. Then he rammed it into the magazine tube with his thumb and racked the slide to load it into the chamber to be fired.

"This one's been through some stuff, but it still runs as reliably as ever with an extra shell."

"Do you always do this?" questioned Jack.

"Usually not," replied Wilson, "but it doesn't hurt to show you what it can do." Wilson fed the gun five more shells and brought it up to his shoulders. He gently handed it off to Jack and further coached him on how to use the Model 1897.

"Once you pull the trigger, pull the slide all the way back and push it forward. Use your muscles. Also, don't get your hand or face too close the rear of it. Otherwise, it will poke you in the eye. Let me see you fire three, and do it on a new target." Wilson pointed to the target to the left of the one that was already shot up. Jack cracked his neck and stared down the sights of the old-fashioned boomstick. The puny, shrunken front sight post right on the muzzle. His index finger slinked inside the trigger guard and gave the trigger a firm pull…

* _ **BOOOOOM**_ *

And Jack was suddenly aiming for the tree tops. He gasped at the sheer power it had and brought the gun down to its proper elevation. Jack kept his mouth ajar and gave the slide a pullback, coaxing out that melodious, metallic _klick-klack_ sound. Wilson couldn't help but laugh heartily at Jack's first impressions of his favorite gun to take out to the field. Both of them didn't even care about where the pellets went, as long as they did not go in their direction.

"How'd it feel?"

"It'll wake you up, that's all I'm saying." Jack deadpanned and fired off two more rounds, though the results were identical. The fourth round was ready to be fired.

"Now, I want you to try to hold down the trigger the entire time. Just move the slide this time, and you'll see why some people even tried to get this thing banned, heheh."

Jack did as he was told and held down the trigger with all his might. He racked the slide back, then pushed it forward to it's original position-

 _klickklack_ _ **BOOM**_

And suddenly Jack was aiming for the clouds above the treetops. It caught him _completely_ off guard with how fast it operated. Tufts of smoke blew into Jack's face, allowing him to taste a smidgen of gunpowder as it completely disappeared amongst the gray dome above.

( _This thing doesn't fuck around. And people had these a hundred years ago!?_ )

Jack turned to his admiring grandfather and commented "I can see why you like this!" before slam-firing the machine again. Then again, with repetition of _klickklack_ _ **BOOM-**_ _klickklack_ _ **BOOM**_ to finish off the ammo in the gun.

"So," asked Wilson, "how'd it feel slam firing that beauty?"

"Felt a bit like a rollercoaster," answered the shook shooter, "You expect it, but you can't time it, and that is what throws you off like with me. Did you actually do that against a Pokémon once?"

Wilson took back his Model 1897 and answered the question, "Fortunately, not out in the wild. The only time I did it was against those damned Weavile. They sure as hell got the point, 'cause I don't see 'em around anymore. 'Least they're smart enough to understand I don't fuck around."

Jack let off a quiet, drawn-out " _right…_ " and realized Wilson was digging his fingers around in a yellow box of ammo he brought. He pulled one of those exotic slugs. Jack shuddered at the idea of one of those expanding while inside of him and cutting up his internals.

"If you don't want to fire it, I won't hold it against you. These are known for packing one hell of a recoil. At the same time, you can be much more accurate with them compared to buckshot. What do you say?"

Jack eyeballed his grandfather with a dumbly open mouth. He _knew_ it would be pretty bad, but morbid curiosity was getting the better of him. He got to play around with a century-old shotgun design that bordered on being full auto, so what was one more round through it to him?

An anxious smirk grew from Jack's lips as he made up his mind.

"Give it here," requested Jack with a beckoning motion from his hands. Every second that passed made him want to feel how it was to shoot it like his grandfather did all these years. Wilson laid down the shotgun and the shell in front of Jack, allowing him to carry out the procedure: start to finish. In the round went with a smooth, metallic slipping sound.

"Shoot it any target you'd like," ordered Wilson as he took a step back and crossed his arms.

Jack opted for the one he already tried to riddle with buckshot. His right fingers danced on the trigger guard's rim. He shook his head, held onto more cold air, and readied himself. A cautious digit lightly tapped on the trigger, spaced itself away, then yanked it back as hard as he could.

- _BOOOM_ _ **PERLUUUNG**_ -

And now Jack was aiming at the moon above the clouds. An audible " _damn_ " slipped from his lips as he threw out the empty shell. Wilson started to guffaw had his son feeling the power of turning a shotgun into a slug gun. Its recoil matched the killing power the projectile offered.

"Gosh," murmured Jack, "remind me to stick with rifles from now on."

"Some are worse," quipped Wilson as the firearm traded hands. Jack was rubbing his right shoulder and looking pretty embarrassed about what happened. As jarring as it was… it was actually a lot of fun for the young man. The stupid, simple "never in my house or with my wallet" type of entertainment of playing with such machines.

"It was like getting head-butted by a Slowking, or something. Sheesh, how do you put up with it?"

"A lot of discipline and practice," countered Wilson. He could afford to spend a slug just to get a kick out of his gun kicking his grandson in the shoulder blade. Wilson walked towards the target to see how well Jack did this time. The novice followed suit, wondering if the slug even expanded like he was told against the slightest contact after shot out. The two came to the target, noting numerous, miniscule holes put in it from the buckshot Jack fired earlier. Right in front of the Stantler's shoulder blade was a sizable hole, the one from the slug. There were no tears on the edges of it, meaning it was a perfectly clean hit through the target.

"Hey, aren't there supposed to be petals?" asked Jack as he examined the hole. Wilson shrugged and explained with a pointed finger,

"Well, if it was a live Stantler, yes. Or a block of gelatin. These aren't quite strong enough to make the spread effect happen. Even if they did, there's no way to find the petals or the actual projectile. But, you can still imagine what they can do against a proper Pokémon."

Jack shrugged in return and scratched the back of his neck. He had enough shooting for now, and would be happy to call it a day.

"I think this is a good stopping point. I don't want to burn out myself and the ammo, is that okay with you?"

Wilson humbly nodded. "Get your stuff and let's get back in. I'll make us something to eat. Did you feel better about yourself during the practice?"

Jack did not know how to respond. He strung together the thoughts he had right now as an attempt to answer his grandfather. "Well, after you set me up with that stand, yeah. Felt nice knowing I could hit something I aimed at. Then came your eighteen ninety-seven. Boy that was a little rough. I'll just stick with my Encore, thank you very much."

Wilson gave him more words of wisdom as they got their guns and the leftover ammunition to head back into the warm sanctuary of civilization.

"Out here, it does not matter how you do it. Be it with a pistol, a bow, a spear, or even a hand-made trap. As long as you can do it, and it can reliably work, I consider it a success. Of course, there are still ethical factors. You don't want the Pokémon to suffer any more than you need it to. But for a novice shooter out here, you are not half-bad. You'll be a good hunter one day."

Jack's faced was flush with taking Wilson's words truthfully. Realistically being able to live up to his dreams of being a prominent outdoorsman, like he daydreamed earlier? All envisioned from the first session of serious target practice?

That definitely took some stress off the grandson's shoulders. But not so much his hunger.  
"So, what are you going to cook up?"

Wilson turned and smiled at Jack to answer his question.

"Steaks made from the backstraps and shoulders. The choicest cuts of any Sawsbuck or Stantler in these parts, coupled with some red wine. Who says a man can't have class, eh? You think I only drink whiskey? There's plenty of alcohol to go around, even the classy stuff."


	8. Chapter 8: Of Escapades and Eggs

An early nightfall swept over the land, followed by a noticeable drop in temperature. The snow covering the soil grew stiffer as a whole line of predators were coming out to chase the ones foolish enough not to seek shelter during the darkness. The stars and moon would soon follow to hang in the sky and give dim illumination if the sea of clouds did not intervene. Two Pokémon in particular were brainstorming a plan to get them a highly sought after, highly nutritious meal for themselves. One was preparing by practicing climbing trees, while the other was sitting quietly and playing out all possible scenarios in its mind. Both of them had an appetizer from a young, stray Furret that wandered into the wrong Pokémon enclave. It served as a quick snack and appetizer for the cunning Pokémon pair. The egg trip would undoubtedly be worth the effort to them.

A Sneasel hanging onto a sturdy tree pried itself off from the back, twisted itself around, and landed on both feet from a short drop, concluding her practice. Another Weavile was sitting down, watching and grading her on the performance.

" _She learns fast… that's nice_."

"Did you say something?" asked the female Pokémon who was eager to get going.

"Errr… nothing. Are you ready to go get some eggs?"

The Sneasel made a complimentary purr. She was brimming with energy from having a quick Furret snack and wanted to use it to get herself and the kind Weavile a proper meal. After the snack, the scout gave a narrow smirk to the beta and led the way to the Pidgeot's nest. She giggled, scarcely able to contain her excitement. And away they went, putting their superior night vision to a befitting use. With their sharp senses, especially their eyes, few could manage to hide from the Sharp Claw Pokémon at night.

The two of them trekked through the woods for a lengthy amount of time away from the cave the others dwelled. The scout stopped every so often to carve landmarks into trees and the occasional frost-glazed stone, so they can remember the trail they would have to take again.

"From what I've seen, Pidgeot are protective of their nests," explained the Weavile. "One parent stays behind as the other one goes out to bring it food. They alternate every so often. They hate the direct cold, so I have no clue why one would raise its family here. Heh, lucky us, right?"

"Oh, of course!" exclaimed the Sneasel, "That bird won't know what hit it! There's gonna be so many eggs for us to enjoy, I know it!"

She abruptly made the scout stop by tugging on his shoulder, switching topics to a more important one,

"What is the plan this time? Same as with that Deerling?"

The scout turned his head and gave a smug grunt.

"You got it. This time will be a little different since I will have to climb up. Give it an uproar it can't ignore." He crouched and etched a rough circle near the roots of a great birch tree to leave yet another mark they will have to trace back. To make things easier, he dug an elongated cavity into the snow with a cross symbol underneath it.

"It shouldn't snow tonight, so this one should last at least the night."

"You and your symbols," teased the Sneasel, "You should save that for when we carve up that Pidgeot."

He didn't give a response. "How much longer now? It shouldn't be too far, right? What if we get ambushed?" followed up the Sneasel.

"Well, if worse comes to worse, we can always just wait them out on top of the branches. Not that there will be any others looking for dinner. Just follow my moves and we will all right."

Seconds turned into minutes, which turned into sizeable fractions of hours, as the two Sharp Claw Pokémon continued an evening walk that mimicked the midnight through the eerie, dead silent wilderness. To her, it all looked the snow. Snow and dead trees, ice and living trees, and an occasional rock, dip in elevation, or clearing of varying size. She imagined what it must be like being a nomad, living entirely alone and endlessly wandering throughout the maze. How rough it must be to rely only on yourself when the entire world must be against you at the same time!

* * *

The footprints of enigmatic Pokémon started to fade out the further they roamed, indicating that they were heading into parts hardly traveled. Additionally, some of the trees appeared much taller with numerous branches sprouting off to create diminishing forks and bridges, almost like a grotesque Spinarak web. However, they were much more spread out than they were before. In the place of footprints, there was a half-buried feather lying idly in on the ground, like a forgotten doll. And then they passed another one a few seconds later. Then it occurred to her; the Pidgeot must have chosen to build its nest somewhere around here, where other Pokémon hardly roam!

It was quiet, hidden, and the trees provided good locations to build a home with thick branches to shield from snow above. All with ample room to stretch wings and fly around. This area was perfect for any flying Pokémon!

"We're close," whispered the Weavile, "stay low and don't make much noise. Keep your eyes open at the canopy."

The two cut their pace in half and painstakingly scanned the upper environment for anything that would resemble a Pidgeot nest. They went about this for only a minute, when the Sneasel spotted something strange that warranted attention and investigation.

" _There!_ " she whispered to the Weavile with a pointed claw, " _by that oak!_ "

A cream-colored blob shuffled in place lightly to get comfortable on top of a clump of brown and gray twigs perched upon a tightly knit web of branches on a large oak tree. It sported an admirable, wavy crest of daffodil hair sandwiched between two tangerine colored crests, in addition to its onyx streaks around the eyes. On its back was a flaxen coat of feathers, made to be more waterproof than its breast. It breathed heavily and watched the ground below for anything suspicious, waiting for its partner to return to switch roles in relief. Occasionally it stood up just enough to peer down on the sand-colored eggs that were its unborn children.

It was a mother Pidgeot, and she did not look happy this night.

The two Sharp Claw Pokémon dashed behind an equally girthy tree to peer and plot their next move. The Weavile squinted and gazed at the perched parent, ducking back behind the tree whenever it dared to look near his direction.

"What do we do?" murmured the Sneasel, feeling worried at the sight of a single but attentive parent. The Weavile did not meet her gaze; too focused on trying to get a read on the bird.

"I did not expect the nest to be guarded. This isn't going to be simple. I'm thinking…"

A moment of silence went by as he came up with a new strategy.

"Do you have any experience with ice attacks?" asked the scout.

"N-No… not really…" answered the Sneasel with a tang of embarrassment.

"Hrnnnng," growled the scout, "That bird could be here all night."

Another minute of strained silence passed by. The runt tried her best to contribute to a possible plan, but all of her suggestions were either inadequate or highly dangerous for the duo, leaving him to do most of the thinking. At last, the scout swallowed and locked eyes with her, with a strikingly stern and concentrated face.

"We may have to fight it head on."

This came as a confusion for the Sneasel.

"Fighting that thing? Really? We can't sneak past it?"

The Weavile gave a sarcastic laugh, "Hah. You think it's possible to creep up a Pidgeot and steal the eggs it is sitting on? May as well try to outstare an Ekans."

"Do we really have to fight it?" whined the Sneasel. She did not have any combat experience with fighting Flying-type Pokémon. And she much preferred to put off said experience later.

"Well," spoke the Weavile as he stood up, "if we're lucky, we will only have to deal with one of them. We have a numbers advantage, plus Pokémon like a Pidgeot do not like the cold that much. A few well-placed Ice Shards should do the trick."

The Sneasel remembered getting blinded by ice during their sparring session.

( _Yeah, don't remind me_.)

"I'll start climbing it up while you distract it, like the last time we did this. The closer I can get, the better. Be ready to start swiping once I blow ice in its face."

"Start… swiping?"

The Weavile gave an annoyed nod. This was news to the Sneasel, who realized this was the very first time she could fight something for real. Never before did she get the opportunity to directly contribute to a hunt of any sort. She stared at her claws and squeezed them a few times.

"You're one of us, remember. Other Pokémon know us for being vicious and deadly. You have to know how to put those weapons to good use eventually."

She stared blankly, feeling that small fire in her start to inch up from within.

"If nothing else, just remember this no matter where you are. It is you, or them. No in between. And it better be them. We can take on this Pidgeot, what do you think?"

The Sneasel gave an adamant nod with her eyes narrowed a smidgen. It was a serious look like the scout had. One of newly unearthed confidence at the task at hand.

"We'll get those eggs if it is the last thing we will do!" she exclaimed. The Weavile responded with a devious grin at hearing her comply. He quickly packed his mouth with fresh snow and moved into position to take on the Pidgeot.

The Pidgeot continued being on the lookout for any threats as it sat on the eggs it laid. A light snowfall came from the sky, making the bird scowl at the weather. It wondered where its mate had gone, and why they decided to set up shop here instead of flying south to more hospitable climates.

" _There's nothing even here! If I so much as even catch of glimpse of him in the spring, I'll give him such a long, sharp talk about this!_ "

The monotony dissolved when it suddenly spotted the Sneasel runt approach from the side as if it was lost. The Pidgeot kept a fierce, unblinking eye on the small Pokémon who was feigning attention on the nest above as it slowly paced in front of the Pidgeot. If neither of them was going to meet gazes and give each other a stare down, then both would be fine, or so thought the Pidgeot. The roosted parent watched the Sneasel come to a stop and scratch its head. Another Sharp Claw Pokémon was cautiously climbing the tree, trying to minimize the noise. She did notice the Weavile inching closer towards the prized eggs for now.

At last, just as the Pidgeot was losing attention on the Sneasel, the runt looked up and sported a cocky, smug simper on the bird.

"Hey, you!" she called, "What are you doing up there? Your rump too cold?"

The Pidgeot's expression remained as still as stone, now giving the troublemaker her full concentration. The Sneasel didn't like being ignored and put her hands on her hips, shook in place a little, and tried to jeer the bird, anything to keep it focused on her,

"What's the matter? You sure look cold! Why don't you come down so I can help myself to your eggs! Maybe that'll get you to talk."

Again, the Sneasel was meet with dead, but tense, silence. The Pidgeot rose slightly and beat its wings twice, telling the runt to back off through body language. The Sneasel tried to keep the diversion going, but suddenly the Pidgeot made a bizarre, tempered clicking sound that rolled through the air.

"And what do you know of being a parent?" growled the Pidgeot, "you would never understand the hardship that comes with being a lonely mother!"

The Pidgeot gave a third flap and turned its head away from the Sneasel,

"Though it seems my mate may have left me for that Unfezant, I have vowed to make the best of it, by making sure I never leave this perch! I shall not allow my unhatched children to become orphans!"

That stung the Sneasel. She went from being a cocky annoyance to a wide-eyed fool at hearing that word.

" _Orphans…_?"

Images of the scout's story of her parents being blown away by that mysterious monster and his deafening weapon flashed across her mind. It was bringing her blood to a boil.

Immediately she retaliated with fire in her voice,

"Hey, I'm an orphan, too! At least you had parents to help you out when you were young! I didn't have anybody to look up to or protect me when I was young! Who do you think you are!?"

The Pidgeot snarled in cruel joy at infuriating the Sneasel.

"You're an orphan because your parents clearly never cared about you. That's what happens to dumb creatures like you; nothing but lowly _idiots_ who only knew how to make more of themselves and mess everything up because they can't even control their hormones. They probably thought you were a mistake upon the world and were too ashamed to even bother raising you. So they abandoned you and took their own lives to escape having to raise you. The only problem is that they didn't care enough to take you with them out of this world to repent for your wretched existence, you _waste_ of resources."

The Pidgeot further laughed at the Sneasel, acting haughty from her nest.

"After all, why do you think you never had a proper upbringing, hmm? I could tell the moment I saw you roaming in front of me. And what makes you think I'll dare condemn _my_ children to the same horrid tale as you? Do you really think _I_ am the deadbeat? Not the mingy _cowards_ you think were your own mother and father before they ran off after finding out that- _gasp_ \- sometimes it's NOT the right idea to pump out so many ugly and parasitic babies like you? Of course you don't understand, because you're _nothing_ but an ignorant orphan too stubborn to accept the fact you were a mistake and grand waste of everything living around here."

Those words made the Sneasel's blood boil like molten, spewing rock deep under the earth.

The Sneasel was gnawing her bottom lip in rage from hearing the Pidgeot's insults. Hell, even the alphas that bullied her around didn't even bother mentioning her upbringing and mother and father that went away and were never seen again. How _dare_ that Pidgeot bring up the fact she was an orphan, let alone mock her parents' untimely demise. What did it think it was insulting her like that?

She was _dying_ to get her claws on those eggs or embedded that sand-colored plumage and scoop out her internals to study in great detail, whichever came first.

Meanwhile, the Weavile was nearly three-fourths of the way to the Pidgeot nest, feeling violent just from the bird's words as well. He planned on hopping up and giving the Pidgeot a quick stab, preferably in the wings, so the two of them could feast leisurely. That went out the window quickly. The Sneasel changed focus from the parent to her partner climbing up the tree, indicated by a very slight head cock. The Pidgeot saw it, and shot a quick glance in the vague direction the runt was looking at.

The Weavile scout was only a little more than his body height from being at the same level as the parent to get those eggs, who was now staring straight into his soul with superior avian eyes of fury.

* * *

She let loose a maddening screech and hopped off the nest to directly attack the invading Weavile with an instinctive Brave Bird. He was startled by the noise and approach, making him haphazardly spit the snow in his mouth into a weak, sloppy Ice Shard attack. It did little more than sting its eyes, forcing it to shut them out of irritation. It still dive-bombed him and slammed straight into his shoulder, knocking him off with a spiral. The Pidgeot made a very dangerous turn in the air, roughly brushing up against the branches of a neighboring tree. It managed to regain control quickly and was now in the air, rightfully _pissed off_ at the Sharp Claw Pokémon trying to steal its eggs.

The female beta gasped at seeing her partner hit the snow with a soft thud. His entire body felt sore and cracked from the combined forces of the Brave Bird and hitting the ground underneath. He flopped his head from side to side in pain, grunting from pain as well with a few light coughs mixed in. The Weavile opened his eyes and saw the Pidgeot flapping its wings clumsily to stay in place as it leered at the two Pokémon. It was from the recoil of the Brave Bird coupled with the ice stinging its eyes like gravel scratching against wooden furniture.

"You won't escape!" screeched the ferocious parent, "I'll pull out your bones to reinforce my nest and strip your flesh to incubate my eggs!"

It let loose an ear-piercing **SKREEEEEEYIAAAAH** and violently tried for another Brave Bird, this time pulling its body up when it came close to the ground and aimed to impale the runt with its set of muscular talons. She rolled out of the way at the last second, feeling her adrenal glands work overtime to give her an instinctual heightening of survival. The Sneasel scrambled to her feet and rushed over to the fallen Weavile, still writhing on the snow,

"Get up! Please get up!" pleaded the Sneasel as she shook his body around out of desperation, "You have to help me! It'll kill me!"

The Weavile choppily groaned and tried its hardest to stand on its feet. The Pidgeot turned around and swooped in for another round. Instead of another reckless body attack, the Pidgeot pulled an air brake and hovered a few feet off the ground to maul the Sharp Claw Pokémon with its feet. The Sneasel yelped and jumped back, trying to protect its face from the flurry of nailed kicks. She received a few lacerations on her arms and it hurt like hell, blood and suffering flowing from broken skin.

The Weavile scout tried to pitch into the battle and delivered a swipe across the bird's lower back, trying to draw attention away from the far more vulnerable Sneasel. Following up the attack, he threw himself onto the bird to the ground and tried to shred it up. Unfortunately for the Weavile, he was still aching from the fall, and the pin effort was quite weak. The Pidgeot only managed to have its breast lightly brush against the ground as it threw off the Weavile with a powerful flick of its back and both of its wings. He stumbled back into the base of the tree housing the nest, but managed to at least steal the parent's attention from the Sneasel.

The Pidgeot hissed at being attacked from behind and gave a fiery glare at the shaken up Weavile at the tree. It jerked its body around, fluttered a foot higher, and then tried to crash its nails on the Weavile's body, who now had his torso up and off the ground. He crossed both arms in front of his face, doing little in actually preventing damage from the talons. It dug into his arms and clenched down part way, shaving off a moderate amount of skin and drawing out small red rivers of his crimson essence.

The Weavile screamed in suffering and pushed both arms forward as hard as he could, throwing off the Pidgeot momentarily, and with it, flakes of skin and fur with a ribbon of blood on the snow. His body forced him to begin hyperventilating from the sheer pain of having his arms being cut into ribbons. He gave an earnest effort to stand up and succeeded when the Pidgeot was closing in to deliver another barrage of kicks, this time intended for his torso. The Weavile's new posture of leaning against a tree on two legs did little in protecting him from the second salvo.

Almost like an ancient dance, the Bird Pokémon bobbed and weaved energetically to come just an inch out of harm's away from her victim to chain with a pinch with her razor-sharp beak on the forehead or near the eyes, or jabbing into his stomach with a talon. Her victim continued to swat in vain or make a break for a better position instead of having his back forced against a tree, only to be punished with a quick, cruel counter maneuver.

The Weavile's movements grew slower and slower as the wounds piled up. He saw the Sneasel in the corner of his eye, immobilized by all the acts of horror in front of her. Hollow, hot rage started to churn in her chest. The Sneasel wanted to help, but she was too afraid approaching the big bird and assisting her partner who was being scratched to high heavens. She mentally wrestled with the decision to pitch in and aid the Scout,

" _I can't stand him getting ripped apart!_ "

" _Then why don't you help? You have sharp nails too!_ "

" _I would, but, I would have to go up against those talons… those tremendous, terrifying talons…_ "

"Wings!" he cried at the top of his voice while failing to defend himself. The Sneasel snapped out of her indecision and darted forward to try and help her companion. She yelled and pressed her feet off the snow to spring into the air, opting for a downward aerial assault on the avian attacker. Her left hand was poised to scrape downward, cleaving through as much as it could. The runt timed the attack the best she could so her claw would do as much damage as deep in the wing as her body would allow; hoping that it would shake the Pidgeot off him. Her claw hooked downward and spiked into the back of the Pidgeot's left wing. Gravity and momentum aided in tearing the claw down the left wing, clipping bones and scattering feathers upon the icy, scarcely colored environment.

Reflexively, the Bird Pokémon howled in an angry spasm and accidently tumbled onto its right side. The exhausting flailing of wings and feet kicking in the air also knocked the Sharp Claw Pokémon away in spite. She knelt and cupped the wound, feeling her left hand wetted with her own blood. A sickening hiss churned in front of her. The Pidgeot regained its footing with a crooked, damaged, left wing. The mother bird murderously glared at the runt, who was leering back with a hurt, hateful expression. To the right of her vision, the wounded Weavile stirred in pain, giving her an idea. She used her intact wing to point at the bleeding Weavile slumped against the tree with a toying grin.

"Do you see that, over there?"

The Sneasel turned her head at her ruined partner. His dark coat was scratched to high heavens with a very slowly growing puddle of blood pooling at where he sat from numerous wounds. He looked up with a weak face of anguish at his partner. The Pidgeot screeched and foamed at the Sneasel,

"I'll tell you this once: run and never return. I'll finish him off and you can inform the rest of your inbred trash to stay clear of me, unless they want a similar end. So, get up and run! Run! Get out of here!"

And there sat the Sneasel with her arm still over the main scratch she received, with a face of fire. Both of the Sharp Claw Pokémon looked at each other with heavy and strained faces.

"Please… duh, do it…" croaked the Weavile, "it's not worth it. You can fall back and get a party to take revenge upon this Pidgeot…" He ended with some wet coughing, but his pitiful state and words did little to move her.

His partner stayed silent in meditation of what she should do. She started to debate amongst herself under her breath, away from both of their ears.

At first, she listened to the logical part of her mind.

" _He might be right… I'll just die if I stick around_."

The zealous side that came with her dark-typing highly disagreed.

" _Why would I bother turning around? Crying for help won't do anything. They won't listen to me, and he'll die in vain!_ "

" _You'd at least have your life!_ "

" _And I'd be empty handed again with more beatings that would make me regret coming back like this. Running away is not the answer! I can beat it!_ "

The Sneasel withdrew her hand and noticed the red stains on it. She wasn't squeamish at the sight of her blood, though to be fair, she wasn't the one bleeding out after being torn apart by a protective Pidgeot parent. Her digits fiddled about for a second and she gave her paw a quick lick.

It tasted… not bad? Not to mention that warm, metallic scent emanating from her forsaken partner…

She gave a few more licks to help put some of her blood back into her body. The flavor was oddly compelling as it fed the side of her that beckoned her to spill much more of it as long as it wasn't hers. To extract revenge upon the avian that mortally wounded the only Pokémon that ever cared about her. Feeding herself some of her own blood fed the morbid curiosity and primal instinct that was getting the better of her.

The Sneasel cleaned her paw and looked back at the grounded Pidgeot. The runt started to subconsciously pant in superiority from the taste and scent of freshly spilled blood. It gave her that familiar light-headed feeling from the other hunt. The unevolved Sharp Claw Pokémon also gained a new outlook on the situation: she took serious note of the Pidgeot's crippled wing.

( _There would be no way that bird could ever fly like it did before. And it would be impossible for it to return to its nest because of that fact_ …)

She got an idea. It granted her the "now you've done it" smile her kind pulls off so well.

An idea so simple, so effective, so _torturous_ to everyone involved, she just had to try it.

It was the proper thing to her if it would be the last thing she would do.

She stood up, hid her wily grin with her right hand, and gave her head a stiff tilt in both directions to let off small cracking sounds,

"Why aren't you running?!" squawked the grounded Pidgeot, finding more and more reasons to rush forward and punish the other Pokémon for its arrogance.

The Sneasel stared back in tough silence for just a second and marched to Weavile, whose consciousness was dimming from blood loss. Her smile flipped one hundred and eighty degrees, washing away her cavalier attitude to a stone-serious visage. She made up her mind on a crucial matter.

" _What… what are you doing?_ " inquired the bleeding Weavile.

"I'm about to make that bird feel far, far more pain than it gave you," she answered with a soothing palm on the Weavile's shoulder, "by claiming those eggs."

" _But… it's not worth it. It'll just fly up and strike you down…_ "

"Take a good look at it," the runt spoke and stepped aside to let the Weavile see the parent with the crooked wing. Her mouth flipped again into a reassuring smile. She knelt down and whispered,

"It _can't_ fly with that wing." complete with a wink.

In that moment, the Weavile was taken aback and gasped in the realization of her plan. He mustered a weak, though heartwarmingly tearful smile towards her; laughing in disbelief of how genius it was. The Weavile scout congratulated her from the bottom of his soul, trying hard to choke back actual tears,

" _You've matured!_ "

* * *

The Pidgeot grew tired of being ignored by the Sharp Claw Pokémon and sought to end this standoff forcefully.

"Enough of this!" squawked the frothing mother. It used its muscular legs to sprint towards the pair of Pokémon hell-bent on finishing the job against them. An approaching storm of awful screeching and wailing prompted the Sneasel to cut their solace short. The beta forced herself up the tree as fast as her muscles permit; going full throttle upward and not looking back or down. She regretted that she could do nothing more to help the scout, but that was not important.

What was important to her was making damn sure that bird sees her devouring those eggs in the comfort of its own nest.

At the Sneasel's personal pace just to rub it in even more.

 _Especially_ after hearing the cacophony of pecks and squawks below rain upon her helpless parent following her insults.

Another dosage of adrenaline circulated through every vein of her body, forcing her to ascend with more and more exertion. Just like the first time she attempted tree scaling, except there was an established goal higher up. Higher and higher up the side of the oak she went, punching her fists into the side deeper and faster with every second. Her entire body was getting one hell of a workout, and it felt _good_. The pain in her arm was deftly ignored as she focused on getting to those delicious, delicious, well-deserved eggs no matter the struggle.

It did not take much time for the aspiring Pokémon to reach the nest. There stood the eggs, completely motionless amongst the frosty weather, safely kept in the gathered bramble bed watched by the mother. There were half a dozen eggs, each of varying size. Some were smaller than average, but there was at least one nearly twice the size of the rest. It was a treasure to behold in the Sneasel's eyes. It was a long, long time since she had the chance to have a proper meal. This time, she didn't have to settle for the second-hand scraps that her hungry relatives failed to finish.

" _Amazing…_ " spoke the Sneasel with a soft twinkle in her eye. She wiped a trickle of drool off her lip and pushed the eggs aside to make room for her to sit in the nest. The runt ogled the eggs, awakening the notorious wind in her belly. But soon it would be quieted. She started off with the smallest one, about the size of her paw, figuring out the best way to get to its nutritious innards.

The Sneasel almost felt a little guilty helping herself to the plump, sand-colored Pidgey eggs and denying the unhatched Pokémon any chance at life.

Almost.

If all Pidgey, Pidgeotto, and Pidgeot were this nasty, then eating these eggs would actually be doing the world a favor compared to more Sharp Claw Pokémon. Not to mention the favor she would be doing to her body.

Dashing away that silly, prey-like thought of mercy, the Sneasel gingerly tapped against the shell to get an idea of its firmness. Next, she flexed her digits and lightly scraped a nail against the egg. That gave her a good approximation of the amount of force she needed.

And her plan was thus: she would poke a hole in the egg and suck out the contents, adding more holes as necessary. She wanted to access as much of the insides to eat, not smash it in her palms and make a mess everywhere.

Her left claw was ready to skewer the Pidgey egg to access the insides, when she remembered something.

The female Pokémon about to enjoy its feast looked over and down its shoulder, seeing the Pidgeot and a still Weavile figure at the base of the tree. The mother temporarily forgot about the other half of the duo because it was so content on finishing off the evolved one that made the first aggression. Her plumage was speckled with blood and scratches to a lesser extent, and thought the worst was over; oblivious to the intruder in its home. The surviving Sharp Claw Pokémon knew that the scout was already dead or at least beyond saving, so there would be no need to shed any tears. Instead, it found the perfect opening for its torment.

The Sneasel leaned out of the nest, took careful aim, and threw the Pidgey egg straight down onto the mother that laid it. She gained a menacing, devilish smile in accord with the freefalling egg accelerating.

 ***SPLAT***

The Pidgey egg splattered directly on top of the mother, spilling its yellow yolk all over the Bird Pokémon. The impact spooked the hell out of the mother, jerking its head in every direction out of surprise before it realized what it got hit with. She used her intact wing to wipe off some of the yolk on the back of her neck and held it in front of her face.  
Her reaction was the perfect mix of _horrified_ and _offended_ it could be for an expectant Bird Pokémon.

She screeched in terrorized disbelief of being splattered with one of her eggs and looked up. She saw a pair of crimson eyes, a slight glistening of a yellow coin above it, and a stubby, ragged coral colored feather parted to the left. And the one thing that stuck out most was a maze of sharp, snow-white teeth contrasting against its dark fur, relishing in the anguish the avian had now acquired.

The Pidgeot's vocal cords tightened and contracted madly, unable to string any coherent curses or audible responses at what she was seeing.

( _That little runt got its way up there, into MY nest, hitting me with MY eggs, making a fool out of me by destroying MY children…!_ )

In sheer rage, the Pidgeot jumped, fluttered, and flapped around with desperation like no tomorrow. It tried it best to take to the skies and fly once more to reclaim its nest. It couldn't even get a foot off the ground. Its thrashing only added more damage to the broken wing. The Sneasel was having the time of her life looking at the mother unable to do anything about the hellish situation for her, but heavenly position for the Sneasel. She merrily laughed at the helpless mother yelling at the clouds.

"Hahahaha, look at you!" jeered the Sneasel as it held out the second-smalled Pidgey egg over the boundaries of the nest, suddenly calming the mother out of disbelief, "I bet this Pidgey wished you still have a functioning pair of wings, huh?"

"The moment you climb down," hissed the Pidgeot, "I will shred you apart at the seams! I'll make sure you die even slower than your wretched partner! You'll bleed for this, you hear?! You lowlife! You abhorrent, little…you… you…!"

The Sneasel stuck her nose up at the Pidgeot, and was ready to do what she wanted to do since the beginning of this incident,

"Anyway, you sure said all the stuff you wanted to up here," pressured the Sneasel, changing her voice to a playful, tormenting tone, "Something about… _orphans_ , was it? Uh huh. How you'll give your children at least one parent to watch over them? Yeah, something like that." She put an extra emphasis on orphans, for she was still one after all.

She stopped herself to chuckle and turned herself around, still leering at the parent stuck on the ground.

"Well, I think I figured out something that is much worse than being an orphan. Do you know what is worse than being an orphan?"

She pointed a claw straight up in the cold air just a few inches away from the egg.

"Being food."

The Sharp Claw Pokémon lived up to her namesake and stabbed the claw into the egg, wiggled just a hair's width in the egg, and placed her lips to the hole to slurp out the extremely nutritious yolk and white from the Pidgey egg. She could hear the parent gasp amidst her slurping; forcing more and more of the life-sustaining liquid down her throat until it was sucked dry. When she finished sucking out the egg's contents, she scrunched up the eggshell and chucked it out the nest at the parent.

"Mmmmmmm," hummed the Sneasel as she stuck the yolk-covered claw in her mouth and slowly pulled it out, cleaning it of the yolk and yanking it out with a quiet, wet pop sound, "mmmm!"

After all the crap she's been through, it felt _really, really good_ being able to inflict some of the negativity others had the privilege of dishing out against her.

The Pidgeot couldn't bear to look at any more of her unborn children become a Sneasel snack. She shut her eyes and turned away, letting sullen tears leak out under her eyes. She just couldn't understand how she was lead up to this point. She went through the trouble of finding a mate, mating, being stuck in such a dull and dangerous environment, and clung onto empty promises of her mate coming back after he flew off one night to seek a new relationship with that uptight Unfezant. To top it all off, a Sneasel invaded her home and mocked her by devouring her unhatched children…

"What's the matter?" poked the Sneasel, "If you're not going to play along with me, I'll just resume feeding. Unless, of course, you have a problem with me feeding myself?"

The Sneasel gave a haughty "ha!" and resumed devouring the Pidgey eggs. Her stomach was immensely pleased with finally being graced with a proper, filling meal for a change. The first few gulps of liquid made her hunger twice as demanding than when it started out, but subsequent mouthfuls of protein pacified her belly. She poked a hole into the eggs, going from smallest to largest, drinking the bountiful fluids madly, becoming _addicted_ to them as she was getting sloppier with each one. Very few drops of it were wasted on the snow or nest. She cleaned herself of the protein quickly before discarding the shells and proceeding to gulp down next one. Then the next one, and the one after that, showing no signs of slowing down.

Before she knew it, the only things remaining in the nest were a few eggshells and a full Sneasel.

But not quite.


	9. Chapter 9: Advancement

One by one, the eggs were eaten, and the shells were evicted from the nest. The Sneasel greatly enjoyed herself doing so. It was so long since she was given a proper meal like this that she had forgotten how Pidgey tasty eggs were. Her tongue and stomach was in paradise from eating the eggs, eating all that delicious protein-packed goo to fuel any arctic predator's body. Far below her was the mourning, frothing mother cursing the Sneasel with all her might for being unable to fly up and punish her. That allowed the Sneasel to take her sweet, sweet time indulging in the joys of eating.

The last egg was scarfed down, tasting the best out of all the eggs as the contents ran down her throat. To her dismay, there were no more eggs in the nest. She scooted in place, trying to get comfortable to relax after her meal. It was not all that bad… for a bird's nest high above the ground.

"Ah…" said the Sneasel, making very sure she can still be heard from the bird below, "this place isn't that bad! It's cozy enough to sleep in here. I think I'll digest those unbelievably _delicious_ eggs for a bit, if you do not mind."

As the Sneasel shuffled to get comfortable, she felt something poke against her left hindquarter. It was something small and sharp, with two prongs spaced about a centimeter apart.

"Eek!" she winced in pain at getting poked by an unidentified sharp object hidden in the nest. She stood up and flipped around to find out where that protruding annoyance was. Despite chowing down on some nutritious eggs to pacify her, the Sneasel was still quite uptight. Something so silly like getting poked in the rear was not going to be tolerated during her rest.

She brought her face closer to the booby-trapped portion of the nest, figuring it was just a rogue stick. But it wasn't because sticks don't give off a gleam.

A small, semi-circular object, slightly thinning at one end was barely poking out amidst the woven twigs of the nest, giving a tiny metallic sheen to her prized night vision.

"What is this _?_ "

The Sneasel started to tear up the portion of the nest she sat on with her claws, sending little bits of wood everywhere like when she tore up the desolate berry bush. _Swish swish, thwip-crick_ went her claws against the material, trying to dig out the sharp semi-circle from its gnarled stronghold.

It only took a handful of seconds for the object to become free enough to be pulled out of the nest and rest in the Pokémon's palms; being extra careful not to cut herself. The object was held right in front of her face, resonating a dim, touching power to the Sharp Claw Pokémon. Slowly, she figured out what it was, and nearly gasped in realization.

It was a Razor Claw.

It was a sharply hooked, ever sharper ended artifact that was worth more than a hundred times its weight in gold to the Sharp Claw Pokémon.

According to the gossip from her pack mates, the fastest way a Sneasel could ever hope to evolve was to get its grubby little paws on a Razor Claw at night. Doing so would catalyze its evolution and become a Weavile in no time. They were hard to find, but stories of feuds from multiple packs could solely be attributed to these little weapons were spread around the Sharp Claw Pokémon like a wildfire. No matter how rare they might be, she had one in her possession. The Pidgeot must have found it one day and took it back to its nest as a souvenir from a good find.

She could indeed become one of those pack leaders, get sharper claws, get bigger, and grow even stronger to heighten her natural status as a predator. Lucky me, she thought.

Merely holding it seemed to induce a monstrous, tugging, throbbing feeling within her very soul like magnets spaced from each other due to her body craving augmentation…

But how could such a thing even work with her? Without any direct proof, those stories were about as believable as fairy tales to her. However, fairy tales they may no longer be.

The Sneasel anxiously toyed with the Razor Claw, being vigilant in making sure it would not fall and be lost in the nest or the sea of snow below. She grabbed it with her free hand and ran the narrow edge against the back of her nails, making the pulling sensation stronger, but not enough to catalyze anything in her body. With her experimentation came progress as she tried all sorts of basic tricks and twirls of the Razor Claw, teasing her evolution.

"Come on, work!" she grunted to the small object, barely able to contain the butterflies in her stomach as she exhausted all possible outcomes of applying the artifact to evolve.

Except for swallowing it. Hell no.

She squeezed her palm containing the artifact out of stress. A wave of potential rippled through her, starting at her hand. Her mind was compelled to keep on trying until something worked and she became a Weavile. She thought aloud to herself, nearly tasting sweet evolution.

"If one hand did that, then maybe…"  
The Sharp Claw Pokémon opened its palm, pressed the other one against to make a cup formation, and wiggled the Razor Claw right in the non-existent gap between the two hands. With a deep breath, she held the image in front of her face tight within in her mind and closed her eyes. Next, the Sharp Claw Pokémon folded her claws inward and locked them together in a fit so tight it threatened to break her nails with the artifact still sandwiched in her palms.

And then it happened.

The Razor Claw felt as if it was dissolving into her skin and scrambling across the inner workings of her hand, trailing a surge of power with it. Her evolution had arrived silently, changing her body quietly, quickly, but forcefully in a harmless but empowering fashion. She felt firsthand her body morphing into its superior, matured, evolved formed within the nest. Intriguing, beckoning calls originated from her subconscious. Calls of bloodthirst, learning potential, and a bit of mating reached out to her. A few of the ways of mental processing previously unknown or dormant within her awoke. To her, it felt as if time stopped, but in reality, the process ended as soon as it began a moment ago.

* * *

The Sneasel evolved into a Weavile.

* * *

Slowly she opened her eyes and freed her hands to inspect. The freshly-evolved Pokémon caught the tell-tale sign of an evolutionary success. Instead of two claws, she now sported three. That alone was good enough for her. And that wasn't even counting all the other perks of evolution for her.

Like a bigger body that now measured just under four feet, an even larger and more advanced brain, more muscle mass especially in the limbs, a full crown of scarlet feathers with two short feathers near the ears and none of them chipped or jagged compared to when she was a Sneasel, a more brilliant golden marking on its forehead, the three claws on her feet to match the three on her hands, fewer but more vibrant tail feathers matching the ones on her head, a crimson collar around her neck, a thicker and plusher coat with a stunning indigo color, and the claws on her feet and hands being even sharper than before.

Her slightly swollen chest was also a nice bonus.

The evolved body would take some time getting used to, but it already felt way better for her. It was way more fitting for a predator like herself. She started to wonder how she even lasted this long as a pathetic Sneasel runt. Then she pondered what she could accomplish with an exponential increase of power.

"There still should be that Pidgeot nearby… perhaps I should pay it a visit."

The Weavile peered down the nest and saw the Pidgeot mourning the loss of a potential generation in the cold. She grinned and yearned to burn off some of the energy her snack gave her.

Without wasting any time, the Weavile got out of the nest and started to descend alongside the tree, keeping a close eye on the Pidgeot with every jump downward. Now it was her turn to be the big, strong Pokémon on the tundra instilling fear and bruises into others.

She reunited with the ground level with a stylish kick-off jump from the tree landing a few feet behind the distraught bird. It looked up from its torment and turned to face the evolved Sharp Claw Pokémon. It looked quite desperate and intimidated, even as far as taking a step back from the Weavile, who was one knee with its arms crossed and against its chest.

"Heh, heh, heh…" taunted the Weavile with an eerie, "now you've done it!" type of smirk, "remember me?"

Its arms sprung out of the cross formation and parallel with its thighs, making a crisp – _swlink_ \- sound. It spooked the Pidgeot even more, who was in the commanding position not too long ago. From this angle, the mother bird also appeared to be way more scuffed up than she thought.

( _At least he put up a fight. That makes my job easier._ )

"…You," croaked the Pidgeot, being so stricken with all sorts of negativity that the parent left it at that.

" _She's...She's mocking me. And my wing is still broken…_ "

The Weavile squeezed her palms and cracked her knuckle to get ready for combat, in addition to a little speech,

"I thank you for the eggs. They tasted great; tasted just as great as I remember, back when I still had parents to take care of me. But, I thank you even more for picking up that Razor Claw. I found it in your nest. I do not know where you got it, but I'm glad you brought it back for me to use. Now, I admit that I wish I could still save my partner, but do you know what?'

She stiffened her claws and stood on both feet,

"Finishing you off myself will be better than running away and coming back with a pack."

The Pidgeot narrowed its eyes and glimpsed at its damaged wing before lowering its head and making another horrible, eardrum pounding scream as it charged at the evolved runt. The Pidgeot didn't hold back any of the strength it retained. And neither did the newly-evolved Weavile.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon narrowed her eyes and foresaw the reckless charge and dodged it effortlessly. Using her long limbs, she started to jab and swipe at the mother's face, specifically the eyes to fight dirty, as she did a much more violent, real version of the sparring she conducted with the scout. A considerable scratch went down the mother's cheek followed by diagonal slice across her breast, cleaving through its plumage and inflicting a second wound on its chest to lead off the fight. The evolved Pokémon's first impressions added a sobering thought to the turmoil of emotions going on inside the Pidgeot's head.

( _She's fast! And precise! This isn't the same runt I made cower in terror earlier!)_

Both Pokémon bobbed and weaved in and out of arm's reach to try and trade energetic, violent blows with each other. As it went on, the Pidgeot was landing few, but hefty attacks with its talons, beak, and wing, while the Weavile was swiftly whittling down the Pidgeot with the rapid accumulation of light but numerous wounds, the latter growing more noticeable as the fight progressed. Shrieking, huffing, and heavy footsteps rattled the once-quiet night.

Now the Pidgeot was slowing down from the combination of exhaustion and bleeding cuts carved into it, forcing her on her last legs. The Weavile still beamed with life, clearly having a good time at the expense of the mother's health. In a last ditch effort, the Pidgeot tried its hardest to inflict an aerial attack by pushing its legs off the ground and going for a perilous Brave Bird maneuver that was only a few feet off the ground. However, the brawling Pokémon had no difficulty intercepting the feeble Brave Bird attack.

The Weavile pivoted off to the left and stuck out a stiff claw in the Pidgeot's trajectory. The attack was carried out right as the Weavile made a vicious hook to the left to see which material would break against what.

The result was the scattering of a dozen feathers from a hard-tumbling Pidgeot crashing and cartwheeling on top of the hardened lay of frosty snow, cracking more bones in succession. It finally landed face first in the snow, panting in thorough, paced agony from unbearable, shock-inducing agony from its busted wings. The Weavile's hand was also sore, but in nowhere near as bad as of a condition the Pidgeot's wings were in.

Knowing that it would take time for the Pidgeot to get on its feet from the crash, the newly evolved Pokémon took a quick break from the battle and investigated its fallen partner. She walked to the base of the tree, where there slumped the still Weavile scout. Numerous deep puncture wounds and scratches marked its body, complete with a shallow pool of blood building up underneath. Its eyes were closed and had zero signs of life, not even afterlife twitches.

The evolved Pokémon knelt down in front of her fallen friend with a very somber attitude. She never saw a fellow Sharp Claw Pokémon dead before, and the sight of it polluted her mind. Nasty, negative thoughts started to drown out any optimism going on in her head. The few memories of fun she had training with him in retrospect were shunned away as she adopted more morbid meditation. It wasn't even a matter of how she could explain this to any of the alpha's goons or daggers making up their vocal cords if they questioned her about it. For the first time, she actually cared about others. She gave a few sniffles of sadness in sync with ached breathing as she gave a lukewarm moment of silence for the scout. The Weavile whispered " _I will miss you_ " into the deceased Pokémon's ears and wiped her eyes.

She truly missed him; the only one that decided to sit down with her and help her rather than push her around.

Her mourning was cut short from the irritable sounds of a struggling Bird Pokémon with two crippled wings squawking hatefully while trying to stand up from a hard landing.

"I'll Killllll yo _uuuuuu_ ~~!" groaned the Pidgeot, being forced to extend the sounds of its contempt from the suffering it was in. The moment to got to its feet to stand up, its legs gave out, and it fell to the ground again with a tempered thud. Gasps and groans of stress echoed from its mouth to confirm the plight it was in. It tried the hardest it could to resume battling, but its body was far too damage to cooperate.

Just then, the Weavile stood up and slowly turned its head to the obnoxious Bird Pokémon with a visage that could only describe as _hatred_. The scout's passing made her go from sorrowful to cynical real fast with a fiercely-clutched hand.

She had enough.

* * *

The Weavile took her time walking up to the Pidgeot struggling even to stand. When it managed to stay on both of its feet for more than a second, the Weavile delivered a wicked right hook to the Pidgeot, making it tumble and leaving a slight depression on the side of its face. It whined from the punch, immediately bringing her some relief. But the Weavile had her fair share of domination from the mother and wanted to wrap everything up.

She stood in front of the Bird Pokémon again; the Pidgeot was still frothing with pure scorn as it gritted its beak to try to mask its heavy respiration. Raising her hand, the Sharp Claw Pokémon prepared to draw this battle to a justified conclusion. It held it mere inches from the Pidgeot's forehead and spoke,

"Any last words?'

A painful silence hung in the air for a moment as the bird continued its futile glaring.

"…"

The Weavile pulled back her arm and uttered the final words to the bird,

"I didn't catch that."

Then came the evolved claw effortlessly breaking the Pidgeot's skull and impaling its brain, putting it out of its misery instantly.

She was the only Pokémon left alive in that secluded section of the tundra. In front of her was a Pidgeot with a ruined pair of wings and a shattered skull. Behind her was the Weavile scout that led her up to this point. The surviving Weavile finished off the Pidgeot that took the life of its mentor. She made the killing blow and technically her first kill, but she largely attributed it to the one that taught her well. The beta had evolved, but she was now alone again.

The Weavile cleaned its claw clean from blood with its tongue, feeling somewhat at ease from licking the warm red liquid of her first kill. The taste gave her a glimpse of what it was like being a true killer, and she genuinely enjoyed it. Her body could metabolize it, and she liked the different metallic taste it had. The Weavile thought about eating some of the bird she finished off, but she already scarfed down half a dozen Pidgey eggs; she had enough protein and filling for now. Eating more would only make her groggy, and being groggy at out in the open, frosted fields at night was a terrible idea. Heck, some predators might come around from the ruckus to see what happened. She needed to finish up and head back.

The Weavile turned around and looked at the departed scout, once again feeling glum at the loss. He would no longer be with her but memory, but thanks to him, she may never have evolved and be set on the road to independence. The Weavile walked back to the body and did the only thing she thought was proper.

The female Pokémon dipped her claws in the little pool of blood and etched a crude drawing of the prized Razor Claw she found above its head. Just enough force was applied to make visible scratches on the hardened wood; they did not have to be super thick. Then the Weavile made two vertical strikes to the left of the Razor Claw symbol. Finally, three bigger vertical strikes were etched on the right of the Razor Claw symbol. It was a short visual storytelling of her pre-evolution life of a Sneasel and evolving into a Weavile thanks to the deceased Pokémon.

The evolved Pokémon took one last look at the sad scene and retraced the scout's footsteps, hoping to make it back to her pack's settlement and survive another day. Now came more time for solitude, but with her new form, it would be solitude spent sharpening her skills, away from the criticisms of her pack.

There was plenty more awaiting the fully-evolved Sharp Claw Pokémon.


	10. Chapter 10: Grandfather-Son Bonding

Several long, polar days passed as the two men used their ammo much more sparingly for target practice. They couldn't spend _all_ winter plinking away at decoys and training targets of the various game Pokémon in the region. Fortunately for both of them, there was plenty of ammo to go around, with Wilson even vowing to dip into his supply of ammo that his grandson's rifle took. Unfortunately for the budding outdoorsman, most of his target practice's success turned out to beginner's luck that just ran dry. Most of the shots from his Encore weren't the best kill shots at the vitals, as noted by the veteran hunter. He remembered one of his shots going completely off the mark from a rogue wind blowing, making him jerk and causing the bullet to go towards the targets rear into its stomach. All complete with a disappointed frown from Wilson to look down at such a shot.

Wilson wanted to teach the newcomer to hit the vitals, including the spinal cord, neck, and very occasionally the brain. Not only to cause the target the least amount of suffering possible, but to ensure that the two of them wouldn't be squatting in the snow for hours chasing it through footprints and small splatters of blood against the snow. Hitting a Sawsbuck in the leg or rump was the antithesis of what he was trying to teach his son. Branching out and trying to aim for different kill spots over the course of a few days was difficult, but well-rewarding for both of them.

On the flipside? The meat Wilson cooked was _delectable_. Jack reasoned that it was just as, if not better, than the cuts of steak he had at the multi-star restaurants. So lean, so natural, so much flavor! No wonder people liked being coming to the far, chilly corners of northwestern Unova!

Routines for hunting practices continued for a few days, with Jack's aim slowly improving despite the comically-off shots he made on occasion. But shooting at inanimate targets from the comfort of a firing table only carried him for so long.

The sun rose over the hills to illuminate the morning with its golden rays, dashing away the nocturnal predators of the wilds. Wilson was already wide-awake and mostly prepared for a busy, important day not only for him but for Jack as well. The hunter was in his gray and coat and snow pants in army camo layered over a jet-black long-sleeved shirt and pants to combat moisture, in addition to his feet being warm in his tall boots. On his head was a matching knit cap except in a pixel design style, while his chin was kept warm by his aged white beard. Wilson was ready for a big day about to greet both hunters. Jack was still slumbering in his bed, completely unaware and uncaring about the preparations his grandfather made.

Of course, the first step to any day is getting out of bed, and the veteran hunter knew how to get his grandson active. Wilson had a smirk on his face as he cooked a slab of venison inside the cabin, filling it with the addicting aroma of cooking, free-range meat the old fashioned way. The young man stirred momentarily and awoke from his nostrils having a real-life dream of a succulent meal in the making. Jack sat up in his bed and saw Wilson decked out and waiting for his grandson to get up and get ready.

"Man, something smells good…" murmured Jack as he rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath of the sizzling aromas from their breakfast. Wilson gave his son an equally warm grin.

"That would be our breakfast. I couldn't just wake you up by rocking you around like I'm trying to get a small child to go to school," spoke Wilson as he walked around the cabin and finished gearing up, "Now, you might not like getting up early, but it's a necessity in these parts. The days aren't that long now, and waking up early means you get to do more stuff in the day. Like, say, going on a Pokémon hunt and bringing it back."

Jack sobered up instantly as he realized why Wilson woke him up so early. Today was the first day they would travel together and try to hunt something! Jack was looking forward to this.

"Wait… we're going to actually go hunting today!?"

The expert took his shotgun off the wall and stood it up on the floor with a soft but impactful thud.

"Yep, today's finally the day you get proper field experience. Get yourself ready to head out soon. Some of the big ones are early birds, and if you can witness me tagging a trophy Sawsbuck on your first actual trip, well, that just makes it better."

Jack threw the blankets off him and got out of bed, determined to storm out into the Unova wilderness and bring home the bacon at this instant. He was hardly affected by the sudden cold wave that attacked his exposed body as Wilson laughed at Jack still being in his sleepwear and going towards the door

"Ah, I nearly forgot," chuckled the grandfather, "no Hotchkiss hunter would ever go out there looking like that!"

Jack looked at his feet and embarrassingly giggled at his current state. Going out in subzero weather, before the sun could warm up and illuminate the land, in nothing but his longjohns?

Yeah, no. There was a reason Wilson was around.

Wilson politely turned around to offer Jack some privacy in taking off the night clothes to put on his warmer, better-looking attire. Once he had on warmer, layered protection like Wilson, the two of them sat down to eat some of the delicious meat that was cooked to perfection. Wilson conversed with Jack about the rundown for today with a more serious face and attitude.

"Now, you have to be my second pair of eyes and ears. I can't just directly lead you a trophy Pokémon by just copying my every move. I still want you to pull your weight because we're in this together. I can't always be at your side and it's been a while since I hunted with a partner, personally. We will be heading to a spot I trod well in the past and always gave me decent results. There'll also be a lot of walking involved just so you know."

Wilson cleared his throat and tapped his plate to warrant his grandson's full attention,

"And just remember this: not every trip is a success."

Jack looked a little deflated at the truth as he chomped away at the slab of meat but allowed him to continue.

"Often times you will come back empty-handed. But it's all about that one trip where you find, shoot, and recover a Pokémon. If a day turns out to be a fluke, use it as an opportunity to figure out how to make the next one better."

"And what happens when I do get that moment where I find, shoot, and recover a Pokémon?" asked Jack. Wilson finished his plate and lesson with some deadpanning.

"Then it's your lucky day, unless you get so excited at finding a Pokémon after many failed expeditions that you scare it away."

Jack looked at him for a long moment before saying something and finishing off his breakfast with a hungry chomp.

"Very funny."

After they had eaten their meal, the two got their most important tools: their guns. Jack got his Encore ready with half a dozen .308 cartridges snug on the stock band he added. Wilson loaded his trusty hunting shotgun with his expanding slugs for his primary weapon. In a move that surprised his grandson, Wilson fitted a red leather bandolier across his chest with a pistol-sized holster over his left hip. In the holster was a silvery chrome revolver with black grips and a bright red blade on the front sight post, partially loaded. The barrel measured about two-and-half inches long, with the gun itself about seven-and-half inches to the very end of the grip, making it easily portable as a snub nose revolver. And to top it off, he stuck a knife about double the barrel length of the revolver into a sheath attached to his right boot. Wilson was ready for any Pokémon while Jack looked on, impressed and a little scared by how heavily Wilson was armed. His voice grew a little shaky but questioned his grandfather about the ordnance.

"Is that really necessary?" asked Jack with a blended tone of fright and fascination pointing at the revolver on his hip. Wilson sighed, drew the gun, and opened the cylinder to show five loaded holes and one empty one.

"Four Fifty-Four Casull: designed to be double-action Pokémon repellent," Wilson explained his reasoning for bringing extra firepower as he spun the cylinder close to Jack. "If you find yourself targeted by an angry mother Ursaring, well, you want to make sure you are well prepared. Not that my eighteen ninety-seven won't do the trick, but it never hurts carrying some extra protection. Plus, this magnum's as good for bringing down the Pokémon you've been stalking, and easier to carry around than a full-length rifle. The weapon of choice for handgun enthusiasts."

Jack countered Wilson by asking why there was a sixth empty chamber in the revolver.

"Old-fashioned safety habit," he answered as he closed the cylinder with the hammer resting on the empty chamber and put it back in the holster. "Load one, skip one, load the rest. It's what everybody with proper sense did back then. I trust it enough to protect me from an angry Ursaring mother, but I don't trust it enough to believe it won't take off my foot if I lug it around fully-loaded and accidentally nudge it. It never hurts to be extra safe with firearms. Of course, newer models like this one are keener on safety, and you can load six if you want. And out there you may as well, but for me, I stick with the old-fashioned habits. Plus it ain't my only protection out there. The last thing you _ever_ want from a gun is to have it go off randomly, no matter what."

Wilson ended on a slightly more entertaining albeit grim note about his sidearm to make Jack think about it to the point of keeping his Encore unloaded until it was necessary.

"And it has even more kick than my shotgun."

Jack did not like hearing that.

( _All right, I see your point. Let's hope I don't have to shoot that. Ever._ )

On slipped their gloves, holsters, and a small spray of Pokémon odor to mask their presence from potential prey to mark off the last bit of preparation for today's expedition. Soon they went towards the door to brave the hostile environment outside their toasty haven. The drastic change in temperature hit them full on as the morning sun shined its light on them. Jack clutched his Encore from the cold, and managed to not chatter his teeth upon going outside the cabin. Wilson's face was like stone, hardly wincing from the winds and air temperature that made the entire outside world their playground. He took a deep breath and made his way towards the woods.

Except Wilson suddenly stopped after no more than thirty steps, recalling one other piece of information helpful when one is about to look for game Pokémon in the dead of winter.

"Oh! One more thing," Wilson announced as he turned to his surprised son, "use the bathroom before we go. The outhouse, directly behind the cabin. You really don't want to have to take care of business right as you line up your sights."

Jack grimaced, silently saying "seriously?" to the outdoorsman.

"What? You don't want to run back here if you gotta do your business, do you?" Wilson replied, ushering his grandson to relieve himself before continuing. Jack hurried up and did his business in the cold, unhappy outhouse, leaving almost as fast as he went in.

Now they were _truly_ ready to go on a hunt together and get Jack valuable first-hand field experience.

Jack and Wilson officially went on their way into the daunting woods in the early morning hours. Jack followed closely behind, trying his best to keep a lookout for any Stantler, Sawsbuck, or even an Ursaring as Wilson led the way. And they walked. And walked. And walked. And walked for an indeterminable amount of time through the frozen forest and discerning levels of snow. When Wilson said this involved a lot of walking, he was not kidding. And Jack quickly grew bored walking amongst the bleak-looking trees and trying to force his body or mouth not to shiver.

"How long does a hunt usually take?" asked Jack earnestly. This was one of the few times Wilson turned around at his grandson during the hike.

"It depends," Wilson said without emotion, "It really depends. Some are long, and some are really long. They all take a while. Just keep your head straight and imagine what you'll do once you finally see a Pokémon."

That answer did not help Jack much. All he could feasibly do was play along and try to toughen out the dull part of hunting. Marching out in the snow-coated wilderness for about an hour was a stark contrast to Jack's fantasies of hunting.

To try to pass the time, Jack decided to admire the scenery all around him. Sure, there were dead husks of trees stripped of leaves, but after taking a more respective perspective, it became apparent that there also were all sorts of birches, cedars, evergreens, and other types of trees. All of them could probably be mistaken for a sleeping, shaven Abomasnow. Every onewas thickly laden with the accumulated dusting of snowfall and frost; tree limbs leaned downwards from the weight of the precipitation on them. Some of the limbs were stooped low enough that Jack imagined one could get a hug from the trees…or be snatched up and hung high in disdain.

He turned around and noticed that the cabin was now entirely hidden from the many crisscrossing trees and tiny changes in the slopes making up the ground.

"Now we're _really_ out in the wild," silently mused the novice hunter. Jack then stopped and took note the footsteps unmistakable prints he and Wilson left behind on the soft material beneath their feet. At least it would be easy to find their way back… or should be. Not that he wanted to abandon his grandfather and make a break to the cabin to indulge on some steaks and backstraps with a classy glass of alcohol in front of a fire.

It didn't seem all that bad out here. He didn't feel much of the cold anymore now that he was out here walking for some time. Jack did not mind being armed to the teeth out in the brumal heart of nature while bundled up in insulating, layered clothing. Soft, shivery crunches of snow came with every step to and behind an imprint of their soles. They were accompanied with wispy, spectre-like winds dancing across their exposed faces and a slowly rising sun giving a dying golden-pink tint to the landscape being shunned by a great gray cloud. The environment invoked thoughts of what and how it was like for the early settlers and mountain men, the ones brave enough to plunge into the wild with their ragged coats and muskets to penetrate deeper into the quiet landscape to bring civilization as they expanded into more seemingly desolate climates knowing that it was far more dangerous than the more mild regions where they came from…

( _How do_ _Pok_ _émon survive out here? Or even humans?)_

Wilson stopped and crouched at the base of a sturdy tree, inspecting some scratch marks made by a Pokémon. He investigated the scratch marks carefully and noticed a near-hidden trail of hoof prints leading to a curvy path left of the tree. Wilson grinned as he found the fresh marks of game Pokémon. The reason for the grin was the fact there were _two_ trails, side-by-side of one another. One set of prints seemed to belong to an adult Pokémon, and the other set of prints were about half the size; most likely a juvenile.

"Jack! Come here." Ordered the veteran and breaking his grandson's concentration. He awkwardly approached the tree and squatted to see the marks and the fresh hoof trail. "These are freshly made tracks, which means whatever made them is still relatively nearby."

"Oh?" awkwardly replied his grandson, noting the two differently sized sets of prints.

"Look here. They came from the right and moved to the left. No signs of looping here, which means they must have continued in one direction. And that is where we are headed."

Wilson lowered his voice considerably and spoke into the novice's ear.

"Eyes and ears," whispered Wilson as he stepped up his stride while trying to remain quiet. He crouched slightly in a small effort to help conceal himself from any watching eyes. Jack grew eager at being shown hope of getting rewarded for their patience. The novice followed close behind the expert again, moving quickly and in a slight crouch to mimic Wilson's movements. Both of them followed the crisp trail of hooves, wherever they might lead. Now it got exciting for Jack; they at the stalking phase of their hunt.

And the two men continued alongside the trail of hoof prints, expecting to see any actual Pokémon up ahead while being very cautious. The hunters passed through thickets of varying size and density, towards whatever made the scratches and left the trail; no other footprints strangely crossed their path to toy with them. They were practically the only humans in this small pocket of Unova, but that did not mean they were alone in the wintry woodland. Pokémon could be anywhere, even more so the ones they didn't want to meet up close. Still, they pressed on with even more uncountable minutes passing by. Jack couldn't wait to see how shooting a real Pokémon would be done, especially by one of those terrifying slugs that bloomed into six smaller, sharper fragments. He only hoped that once they found the Pokémon they were actively searching for, they wouldn't have to do much more walking.

By now, the sun was already high towards its daily peak as the vision got about as the morning light allowed. The hunting duo was now in a more densely packed version of the woodlands with the trees growing taller and seeming to lean against one another to blot more of the sun. Wilson came to an abrupt halt and held his hand away from his face, signaling Jack to stop as well.

" _Sssh, look,_ " whispered the stalker. He swore he saw a vague brown and white figure make a movement against the dead bramble ahead. Or, it could be his mind playing tricks on him for concentrating too hard out in the dense, frosty fields.

In either case, the grizzled grandfather eyed the scenery up ahead with a predatory eye and slowly drew his shotgun against his face, looking down the sight. He transitioned to a very slow and diligent march through the snow as he actively aimed at the area in front of him. Jack copied his grandfather's movements, drawing his rifle from his holster. He held his breath and peered through his scope as an improve set of binoculars to help his grandfather in finding a target. The two moved like soldiers slowly sweeping a building at night.

They came to a more open section of the untamed forest when Jack also saw the same movement that teased his grandfather and nearly gasped when he saw it. He saw movement of a mostly white thing a couple of feet off the ground, understanding that clumps of snow do not move in the air by themselves. Jack eyed the white object for another minute as he watched every modicum of movement from it. Then a coffee-colored object sandwiched between two white sticks rose a higher. The apprentice grinned and breathed in enthusiasm as he whispered to his mentor,

" _I see a Sawsbuck! To your right! See it!?_ "

The experienced tracker stared at the direction his grandson gave him for a long moment, eventually seeing the brown and white mass move on its own. And right at its side was a rather plump looking Deerling with two small nubs on its head; the first antler points growing. It was worryingly looking around in every direction but behind it or the Sawsbuck. Wilson silently swallowed, held his breath, and calmly thumbed the exposed hammer. It made an inaudible click, signaling that it was hot and ready to fire.

Wilson circled a teeny bit to the left for a better view and gingerly rested his gloved index finger on the trigger. He also crouched to help stabilized himself with a few quick breaths to reset himself. Wilson shot a quick glance at Jack and pointed his left index finger at the young man's eyes, then to his eyes, then to his shotgun, and added his middle finger for a double point at the Sawsbuck.

" _I hope he's paying close attention_ …" thought Wilson as he closed his left eye and took aim at the larger Season Pokémon. He held his breath and kept the muzzle of the model 1897 as still as he could. His target moved further out and a little to the left, now giving a crystal clear view of his side. Lucky, the Deerling was more towards the Sawsbuck's rear half, so that it wouldn't interfere with the shot. Not that Wilson would mine bagging two Pokémon with a single slug, but in the case of shooting only a Deerling or Sawsbuck, it wasn't even a contest.

Jack was watching as close and precisely as he could without spooking Wilson or the Pokémon. The budding tracker struggled to watch through his scope or with his naked eyes, and he settled for his naked eyes for a much broader view. His heart was madly beating against his ribcage in anticipation of hearing the hardened boomstick work its loud, destructive magic.

" _Do it, do it do it do it!_ " Jack demanded in his mind as waiting a few seconds seemed more like waiting for a few hours in icy, inanimate agony.

Wilson did all of the calculations in his head and adjusted his aim right behind the Sawsbuck's foreleg, where the heart and lungs were kept. Wilson squeezed his gun tight and the trigger tighter.

 ***BOOOOOM***

A sudden blast of thin smoke and rattling sound thundered from the muzzle of the shotgun like a godly firework. The shocking soundwaves lethargically rippled through the raw, harsh air, startling every Pokémon in a square mile radius, and intriguing those double the distance away. The exotic, expanded slug cut through the air at an impossibly fast rate and hit the Sawsbuck in the compartment housing its heart and lungs. The primary projectile bored through the upper half of the heart and completely _demolished_ most of the heart. As the slug came into contact with the first vital organ and violently crumpled up, the six other fragments broke off and veered into separate paths. Most of them were deeply embedded and awkwardly tumbled in the tissue of the lungs, causing exponential amounts of damage to the most critical organs of the target. The sheer amount of force, trauma, and shock overwhelmed the Sawsbuck who went limp and dead before its body touched the snow. Its Deerling friend almost bleated in fear and ran as fast as its legs could carry even deeper into the wild, disappearing among the woody trees and knots.

No fuss, no further chasing, no excessive physical hardship caused. The Sawsbuck didn't feel a thing as its brain was occupied trying to process the booming sound behind it.

All this occurred in under a fraction of a second.

Jack greatly winced at the sound but stared again in awe of the once-still standing Sawsbuck dead in an instant. Wilson kicked the shotgun shell out of the gun where it was embedded at his feet. Nothing more, nothing less.

 **[Author's note: The revolver Wilson brought with him just in case something bad happens, specifically a .454 Casull Redhawk, is another real-life firearm. Big, heavy, and packs a wallop for a handgun. In some big revolvers, you can safely chamber weaker ammo in it for a less punishing warm up. For the hotter ammo designed for it, the recoil's nasty, but the damage it inflicts is even nastier. The intended ammo may not be the most fun thing to shoot all day at a firing range, but a gun not being fun to shoot doesn't matter much in a case of life or death out in the wilderness. Always be prepared.]**


	11. Chapter 11: Not All Clean Fun and Games

Wilson had a smile on his face from shooting the Sawsbuck in the perfect spot with his unique ammunition and Jack was left in awe. That one moment made up for the past minimal hour of walking through the woods. That flash of light, that booming thunderclap of sound, the sheer damage he imagined the shotgun dealt at a distance to make sure there was no more trouble.

" _Wow_ ," Jack thought as he stared with a humongous grin on his face, almost as if he was the one that shot it. Okay, maybe the sound wasn't pleasant because of tinnitus. But still, it was a rush for the young man seeing how his grandfather did it. How many Pokémon were shot in a similar spot by Wilson during all of his years of hunting?

Wilson approached the downed Pokémon. He examined the face, seeing zero signs of life. No breathing or even trauma-induced twitching anywhere. It was as dead as it could get; it wouldn't be getting up after that.

"Oh, hohoh, my!" exclaimed Jack as he joined Wilson by the carcass, still hopped up on raw excitement from the gunshot and witnessing a good kill, "That was awesome! You did it perfectly!" Wilson looked up with a softer smile compared to his grandson while kneeling in front of the carcass. He put down his shotgun and pulled out the intimidating knife from his boot.

"Now, we aren't done with it yet," explained Wilson as he pushed the Sawsbuck's belly, "in fact, we're just beginning."

Jack looked puzzled as Wilson immediately pointed his knife at Jack and motioned him over to help him. He noticed the tip was mere inches from the Pokémon's lower belly and above its groin area. The novice widened his eyes at grim, squeamish comprehension of what was to follow suit.

He was to help Wilson get deep in guts to field dress the Pokémon.

" _Oh, oh… he's not gonna do that… is he?_ "

"Jack! Come here and help!" Wilson ordered as Jack reluctantly came to the opposite side of the Pokémon, its back, while Wilson was about to make an initial incision in the body.

"It is time you learn how to do the real dirty work of hunting. This is just as important as learning how to shoot, if not more."

"I… I'm not going to have to touch that stuff, right?" pleaded Jack, feeling sick at the thought of it. Wilson looked up with a critical expression.

"Every hunter has to do this. You came here to learn how to track and shoot Pokémon, and now you'll learn how to field dress one. Really, it's not so bad. We have gloves on. We're all made of the same stuff, anyway. I'm gonna have you do more than just stretch it out for me to start with. Just think of it as a science lab project back at your school."

( _You probably could have used a better comparison… I never liked that stuff!_ )

Jack looked defeated and annoyed that he would have to get his hands dirty. And possibly wrist deep in the ruined, mushy cavity from the gunshot with lots of little metal bits floating around. The aspiring hunter conceded and tried to brace himself for the gross job ahead of them. "Alright, I'll help. Just tell me what I need to do."

"Pull back on its leg so I have a good view of its belly. I'll make a starting cut and work my way up, then I'll let you try. And I want you to pay attention, too."

* * *

Jack pulled back on the Sawsbuck 's hind leg to give Wilson access to its underside. Jack uncomfortably watched his grandfather make an opening cut around the groin and sawed around in a circular motion, drawing out a cup's worth of blood. Soft sounds like a sweater being torn apart rung in Jack's ears as skin and fur were cut. The other thought of the knife slipping and sheathing itself into the muscle of the groin only made it harder for Jack to concentrate on how to perform field dressing. And if was going to go hunt on his own, he would have to do something like this eventually…

Then Wilson started to saw the knife upwards a few inches above the groin, being extra sure not to cut any large organs yet. Two fingers wormed their way under the layer of fur and above a large organ and wiggled to loosen up the tissue. He cut about four inches up along the sandwiched incision made on Pokémon and stopped to look at Jack.

"Okay. I made a good start for you. Take the knife and follow like I was doing. Just take it slow and don't work it too low, or you may puncture something you don't want to."

Wilson got up and shuffled over to Jack to give him the knife. The grandson was uncertain about doing the cutting. Watching it and doing it are two very different things.

He hesitated in taking the knife and continuing the dressing. There was already a thing coating of blood on the blade as if he was not squeamish enough.

"Anything else I need to know?"

Wilson cleared his throat to give a couple more pointers,

"Take it slow and find out the path you should follow along. More importantly, don't bring the knife into the guts, we'll want those to come out in one piece. I got it started, so if you were watching me, you should know how to do it. Don't worry about it being perfect."

The apprentice shook his head reluctantly knelt in front of the partially opened belly. He could see the naked muscle tissue parted from the skin and fur of the Pokémon left without a scratch; what he and Wilson would eventually be feasting on. The tip of the knife soft prodded at the tissue layers Wilson opened up. It soon slipped into the furrow Wilson created on the carcass. Jack used his free hand to pull back the intact layers further along the Pokémon's chest and sliced away. He added a full three inches on par with his grandfather with way less force than imagined.

Wilson chose his knife well.

"Is it always this soft?" inquired the grandson. The veteran kept a silent eye on Jack as he continued cutting along the gash. He took his time and gradually got used to handling the exterior of carcasses and the fabric tearing-like sounds made from the knife. More of the Sawsbuck's internals were revealed and slightly sticking out with squishy sounds. They were oddly colored to the first timer. He expected all of them to be various tones of pink, not batter or lavender colored! And he didn't expect the veins running across the surface of them!

Jack swallowed to keep is gag reflex down, though it hardly helped when more of his hand and wrist was touching the squishy, warm internals. Luckily his job was just about to end as the incision started to get less neat and straight. Wilson stopped him right as Jack was about a foot from getting the knife in between the Sawsbuck's forelegs.

"Stop, that's good enough," Wilson called as he got up to get closer to Jack and take back the knife. Jack got up and wiped his hands on the snow to clean them of the blood that splashed on them.

"That wasn't _so_ bad," Jack admitted as Wilson inspected the chubby belly and loosened up Jack's stopping point. Wilson locked eyes with his grandson as both of his arms were slightly widening the large cavity.

"Just one more thing and then you're free."

"Okay, what next?" asked Jack. Wilson added more force in trying to spread apart the separated tissues to help loosen up the carcass. More of its intestines flopped out, making an awful sound. Jack didn't have a good feeling about this.

"Now we pull out its organs and drain it."

Okay, sure. Just get your hands inside the dead body and use them to scoop out the buckets of organs that might rupture at any time and make a mess everywhere as they make produce gut-retching sounds and smells from the body no longer containing them, so the actual edible meat is not tainted. Everybody is itching to do something like this after they shot a Pokémon.

Jack had a natural double take.

"Wait…"

…

" _What!?_ "

Wilson shot a commanding look at his grandson.

"You heard me. Use your hands and help me get those organs out. The quicker we get it done, the better."

Jack did not like where this was going one bit.

* * *

He tried to weasel his way out of getting his hands deep in the body to scoop out the guts and other viscera. A plausible thought crossed his mind,

"Wait, you shot it with those expanding slugs, right? What if one of those pieces cut me?"

Wilson sighed and squeezed the end flaps of the carcass.

"Oh, they won't. Now come on and get this over with."

The grandson gave a whimper as he crouched by his grandfather, still prying open the two sides of tissue nicely cut open. Jack closed his eyes and placed his right hand inside the Sawsbuck, doing anything he could to minimize how gross it was.

The inside of the body was surprisingly warm. It was almost comfortably warm, Jack thought, until he scooped his hand backward and felt a fistful of organs. They were almost like moist, leaky sacks of pudding. The fleshy, squelching texture and sounds of the pushing around the organs with blood pooling inside the carcass make his stomach churn in revilement. Jack kept his breakfast down and used both hands to try and push out the gut pile in as much of a uniform mass as he could, realizing just how large the intestines and other body parts were. Not to mention how heavy they were.

Even worse was when Wilson got the knife inside to help jack get the guts out. Wilson cut away the connecting tethers to free up more of the weight as most of it thoroughly flopped out onto the ground. The job got bloodier the further Jack went, because he was now pulling away the section containing the destroyed heart, where all the blood was. His hands were stained red as the pool grew with bathtub-like, drenching sounds.

But the grossest to Jack were the pale colored intestines being rolled out in a sloppy ball onto the snow with an ugly, earthy stench.

( _Oh this is so gross and nasty and disgusting like hell!_ )

Fortunately, the worst was nearly over. Enough of the guts were unconnected and freely floating in the body that Wilson withdrew his knife and gave an extra set of hands to finish removing them. All that was left was the colon feeding into the yarn-like mass of flesh from the rear. Jack buried his hands onto a clean patch of snow, instantly dirtying it and getting most of the blood off.

He couldn't _believe_ what he just did.

Like clockwork, Wilson finished the last of the cutting by making a large opening near the Pokémon's hindquarters. Some of the colon was pulled away, separated by a quick cut, and the rest was funneled away from the carcass. Jack made the mistake of looking towards the gut pile and was almost trembling at how gross it was in addition to Wilson taking the knife to its groin again.

Jack felt disturbed and shaken getting his hands so in-depth and dirty into the body. At least the Pokémon was not alive while it happened and he did not vomit? Tch, like that would help.

( _Never again. Never again. Never again_.)

"Jack, it's alright." Wilson comforted his grandson as he pushed the carcass to rest on its open stomach to drain the blood, "We're done with the nasty stuff. Now we just wait for it to drain and we can get back. Then I can teach you how to butcher and prepare its meat. That part won't be as gross as this one."

That only raised more questions for Jack.

He pointed to the pile and asked, "Are we just gonna leave all that stuff there?"

Wilson nodded, taking this way better than his grandson.

"Yes. We're primarily after its muscle and meat. Sure, you can eat most of the edible organs, but almost everybody leaves it there for the others to eat. Unless you want to carry a liver for the hour long trip back."

Jack raised another question about leaving behind all the guts, reasoning "But won't that attract stuff like Ursaring? I can smell it from here, and who knows how far it can travel!"

"Not really." Wilson answered as he put his hand near his chest holster, "Pokémon will arrive to clean up by the time we're back at the cabin. Even if we do run into some Ursaring, I've got more than enough protection. It's a good thing it's mostly Sawsbuck, Deerling, and Stantler out here. But you'd be surprised at where you can find other, dangerous Pokémon, no doubt about it."

Jack shrugged in agreement. He cleaned his gloves as much as he could on the snow and picked up his gun, waiting for the blood to drain so he and Wilson could haul it home.

( _Gross..._ )


	12. Chapter 12: Outcasts and Opportunities

Elsewhere, there was a novice hunter's set of problems that had to be confronted sooner or later. The sun started to begin its dissension from the noon peak, slowly whisking away the daylight. The newly evolved Weavile stared at the bright blue sky fading into gold-pink tones in the last few hours of the daylight at the base of a desolate tree. A fellow Sharp Claw Pokémon approached her with a small following, all ready to bust a vein in frustration after piecing together what happened a few days ago. It was the one she feared most from the tell-tale gang following.

She knew she would have to come face-to-face with more verbal abuse with the alpha of her pack. Even in a community far larger than the norm for her kind, it didn't take long for one to eventually realize another member was missing and spread the news like a virus. It wouldn't have been so bad the one to take notice was one of the younger Pokémon, or heck, any of the Pokémon that didn't immediately resort to punching around others and berating them behind the safety net of a few cronies behind their back.

The alpha's intimidating, exaggerated stomps and clacking of his natural weapons disturbed her peace and quiet. Her stomach took a deep plunge in aversion as she was abruptly going to play the role of the bearer of bad news towards the bullies. The alpha stepped up first, feebly concealing his anger and spat at the Weavile,

"You have some explaining to do, don't you?"

The female Weavile kept silent while balling her hands together against her mouth and refusing to make eye contact. She may have evolved, but everybody else still recognized her; they didn't bother bringing the point up in fear of the beta using her augmentation to lash out at them, or if the words about her would arouse the unwanted attention of the meanest, most authoritative Pokémon around.

The alpha got even angrier at her silence and lack of attention, feeling as if she was indirectly tarnishing his ego by not acknowledging him.

"Answer me! What did you and the other cowardly lookout do several nights ago, and where is he!? Because last I heard, he was with _you_ instead of a hunting party, and I know that _you_ are nothing but trouble for us!"

The Weavile stood up and lightly tapped the tips of her nails into the ones across from each other. Her head lowered while her eyes were fixated on the alpha and his followers, all yearning to punish her for being involved in losing one of her kind's own. Again she did not answer.

The alpha shook his head and bared his teeth in a mean hiss. He pressed the tip of one of his fingers against her throat and traced the broad side of her neck, gradually adding pressure.

"If you won't say anything, maybe we'll just beat it out of you!" He looked over his head to see his friends starting to get riled up over his threats; almost ready to jump in without orders.

This conversation started to burn deep under her skin. All she and the scout wanted to do was to go out on a night of constructive fun and learning of putting her climbing skills to use and seeing if they could get any Pidgey eggs to share. Mostly because she needed actual field training to do something other than being a stress toy so she can learn how to feed and fend for herself. All because he was too stuck up to help the others that weren't as violent or loud as him.

( _Why can't I just scratch his eyes out, right here, right now? And his followers egging him on to act like this, pushing me around. Come on, you have it in you…right?_ )

The Weavile in question tilted her head and gave a simple, fed-up response, "Fine," and pushed away the alpha's hand from her neck,

"He took me egg gathering a few nights ago. We found a Pidgeot huddled in its nest over some eggs, and we worked together to bring it down and take its eggs."

She swallowed and tried to twist the story to her liking.

"The Pidgeot attacked him first, and severely mauled him. However, I crippled it by breaking its wings. It couldn't fly, so I climbed up and helped myself to the eggs in the nest. And the Pidgeot just so happened to have a Razor Claw in the nest with the eggs. Those eggs and that Razor Claw gave me what I needed to climb down and finish off the Pidgeot by stabbing it in the face."

The alpha pulled back and looked dumbfounded at what she just told. That explained how she went from being the lowly Sneasel she always was to a bigger, more mature Pokémon. For the first time, the pushy Weavile genuinely asked,

"And what happened to the other one?"

She started to look and feel terribly tense as she prepared to tell the group what they didn't want to hear.

"Left for dead. He was far too injured to return. I saw him, all scratched and wounded, congratulating me on managing to cripple the Pidgeot and open a path to get the eggs we were after all this time. Because of him, I'm stronger than I ever would be if he didn't lend a hand to help out of the kindness of his heart."

She pointed at him with a flared voice,

"Unlike you, where you only care for yourself!"

Oh, he didn't like that. Any of the sympathy and concern for the fellow Sharp Claw Pokémon was dashed away as he felt _challenged_ by her. He did not want lash out, throw her to the ground, and have his way with her in a violent fit. He wanted to dissect this, piece by piece, and make her break down from the pressure of it all.

He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows at the still-beta Pokémon.

"Do you _really_ know why you are still alive and managed to evolve?"

The pressured Weavile knew exactly where this was going. She closed her eyes and shook her head briskly and shortly to ruffle the fur on her face. She was not going to let him guilt trip her into submission, or madness, or both.

Cautiously, she remained silent, biding her time and trying to not let her growing rage get her into serious trouble.

"And what of the food you fill your belly with?'

( _The scraps you leave behind aren't even food!_ )

"The fact you're allowed a cave over your head and walls over your body?"

( _Okay, you might have a point, but-_ )

"The fact we have half a dozen others on patrol to make sure they don't even you or us?"

( _But you-_ )  
"Not to mention that one of the ones that explicitly kept an eye out for you, so I've heard?"

(. . .)

The Weavile looked uncomfortable and felt a small tear build up behind her eyelids. At the same time, she felt rage and guilt begin to accumulate like snow from a violent midnight blizzard.

"And the same one you lead to his death, seeing how he isn't around?"

The Weavile shook her head and balled her hands.

"…And you're trying to say _**I**_ am to blame for all of this, and not you?"

She stopped thinking for just a moment.

"So, this tells me you haven't matured, and you're still a bratty beta trying to blame everything but yourself for all of your hardships."

That pissed her off.

"And you have the audacity to gawk and complain about why a lot of the others don't like you. Tch!"

That _really_ pissed her off, and it showed from her teeth-showing snarl and unhealthy breathing from stress.

"And you know what? You're not even worth my time when I got a dozen other, more appreciative, contributing mouths to feed. They don't even complain or drag us down because they are not _ungrateful_ for the things we do for you!"

She had her right fist in a tight ball, yearning to just wallop him in his face and start shredding him to pieces while he was pinned on the ground in shock. To see him go from being so arrogant and evil to becoming the sniveling coward he preached about her for so often was all she wanted right now. All those collective grins and laughs of mockery behind him would go away as well. The desire to lash out and start mincing him placed its ugly, burning hands on her shoulder and made a screeching whisper into her consciousness that she could end all the abuse right here, right now.

But she didn't give in to the devil on her shoulders.

Her mind went partially blank, temporarily shoving his verbal abuse away so she could get in a feeble last word on the matter. She drew a solemn yet stressful breath and turned away from him.

"You know what? Fine. Go find someone else to push around. I'm done with you. I ain't gonna put up with this. "

The bullied Weavile turned around and walked away.

"I'm leaving and never coming back just to put up with all your bullshit. Happy now? I'll do more by myself than any of you could manage to do!"

She valiant owned up and aimlessly walked into the wild. Some of his lackeys wanted to give chase for the hell of it, but their leader gave a sharp order to ignore her. She could hear sick cackling and spitting behind her on top of more distinct words,

"That parasite wouldn't even last a day and we're better off without her anyway."

She was going to see about that.

* * *

And so she went on a coerced exodus with the alpha's words still fresh in her mind, still shoved away for now. But it wouldn't last that way. They were starting to grow and squirm violently, being incapable of being quarantined so other, non-self-destructive thoughts have their time in the spotlight. Time passed, and the sun began to drop even more as she walked and walked straight ahead, losing a mental civil war with herself. It was the scout's acts of kindness and willingness to pass down some techniques that got her where she was.

"If it weren't for him, I wouldn't know how to climb, or even have evolved."

Of course, the alpha did speak with a grain of truth. The Weavile was thinking in very technical terms now, how it all kicked off when the alpha yelled at her and having his helpers strike her while she was down. All of their harassment spilled over and prompted her to get up and vent the accumulated frustration on the berry tree. To the exiled Pokémon, _that_ was the starting point of this chain of events for her.

"But… if it weren't for _him_ , all of this wouldn't have happened. Is _he_ … right?"

Night was starting to rush ahead, and so was the abuse imbued in her. The Weavile slowly begun to lose focus as she caved in and was taking it hard again. The Pokémon buried her face into her paws while her traumatic mind was reduced to tatters.

At first, it was silent, stinging whimpering and moaning as what he said burrowed into her self-esteem and hollowed it out.

" _Being called a "parasite" and "ungrateful" after all they did? Is he serious? That's not me! And what good has he done for me?_ "

Her nails dug into the palm of her hands, causing it to bleed just a tad from her paws being scrunched up too tightly.

" _So stupid, so, so, stupid! He thinks he can do whatever he wants just by pushing me around. Well, he'll have to find somebody else to push around. Not me, I'm out here, alone! Alone and nothing else in sight but more trees and snow!_ "

Her claws began to dig into her skin on her head, messing up her already scarred coat by drawing blood, scattering fur, and breaking her skin. Her grasp on sanity was starting to slip.

" _All alone as always, except away from abuse at last. No more. No more yelling, being beat up, being attacked. Violence, violence…_ "

She stopped clawing at her skull and got a big whiff of the frigid environment and the intoxicating aroma of freshly spilled blood. The taste and aroma of her blood coaxed out her inner predatory potential, just like with the Pidgeot. The Weavile looked down at her hands with her entire body starting to tremble from the sudden drop in temperature. Her paws were dirty, and she had a maddening self-inflicted headache, trying anything to take her mind off the alpha and his gang following speaking daggers to her. The Weavile took series of breaths of cold air and her own blood, feeling something twist inside of her. It was that familiar, devilish pull at her stomach right before she tore up the berry tree; her inner instincts calling and make her act like the wild Pokémon the rest of kind was known for.

Something inside of her seemed to have finally _snapped_ , one way or another.

" _Violence. Hunting and killing he always wanted to do. And showing others that he's an apex predator. Making others afraid. Making them forced to fear him out of respect. Violence and force… I'm one of him too, after all. Same claws, same coat, same teeth. Same appetite and tendency to rip into something with these claws to get them dirty. Predators aren't parasites or ungrateful. Having to find, stalk, battle, and stomach prey… they require more work to get their food. They earn it through struggle, making them justified. They deserve every ounce of pleasure._ "

The Sharp Claw Pokémon broke free from her meditation and looked around. It had gotten dark and she was out here, all alone in the white wasteland. Who knows how far she traveled, and where she was now. Everything looked the same to her. It was rather bleak and depressing, being out here and trying to fend for yourself against the elements; lucky if you'd encounter any other organism. But while the Weavile could take the cold and her self-inflicted headache, there were other matters.

Her stomach made a loud, rude rumble as her body suddenly felt empty.

"Oh…" she said aloud, "that's right."

She still had to feed herself like any other Pokémon up this far north. The downside is that she _had_ to; otherwise she'd be set on track for a long, terrible end. Even the scraps left by the alpha and other hunters were better than _nothing_. And there was a whole lot of nothing where she was; probably the only Pokémon in around in miles!

However, there was an upside she only now considered: this may be her big break. This was a perfect opportunity to prove that she has matured and learned about being a hunter. The Weavile was now in a position where she could make a kill entirely by herself. Once she did, she could help herself to as much of it as she wanted. And on top of that, she could treat herself to some old fashioned fun like with her time with the scout. Especially since she was just itching to kill something and satisfy those inner, predatory needs that were born in every Sharp Claw Pokémon.

Not like she had much choice anyway.

* * *

"Okay, okay, one thing at a time." the Weavile finally calmed herself down and listened for anything suspicious around her.

Off to the right in front of her were the quiet sounds of icy water running along a riverbank. The Pokémon turned her head towards the sounds she just picked up and walked towards it, silently cursing her for only now realizing its proximity. Liquid water seemed nice to her instead of packing her mouth with snow and waiting for it to melt for rehydration. She'd look for a proper meal later.

It only took a minute for the Weavile to walk down from the clearing she was in down the slope to a small running river. The sounds of the water going downhill and against jagged rocks greatly soothed her tension and newly conceived killing tendencies. Just hearing it run and splash against rocks made her tongue dry up in anticipation. It was about twenty feet wide and about five feet deep, stretching and snaking across the land as far as she could see or hear. Large, smooth rocks jutted out from the surface in random intervals, forming a broken natural path for creatures to cross over.

As the Weavile approached the riverbank, her nose picked up something peculiar. It smelled of musty, cold, wet fur. The scent was also familiar in a way she couldn't describe. Whatever was making the scent was nearby, seemingly emanating from the other side of the river.

She almost felt she was being watched. But that couldn't be, what else could be here?

"Probably another Pokémon that had a drink," she said aloud, stirring her primal instincts at the prospect of action. The Weavile shoved it aside and knelt by the stream to take a drink. The water was numbingly cold to her hands and pierced her body while sliding down her throat and settling into her stomach. Her body greedily accepted the fluid to replace the ones it lost. Again she lowered her hands to more liquid and splashed it against the face, using its chilled properties to clean her face and refresh herself. The Weavile decided to get straight to the action and planted her lips on the surface of the rushing water enriched with traces of minerals, taking in gulp after gulp to stay hydrated and healthy.

After she was done, she wiped off as much excess water from her face and sniffed the air. While her own scent had grown stronger, so did the mysterious scent on the other side.

"Maybe we can smell each other," she commented as her predatory senses started to take over again the more she thought about it, "that should make things interesting."

The Weavile had her intake of water. Now it was time to get her intake of food. The Weavile pondered what the smell was. It didn't smell bad. It just smelled…pleasing to her. Compelling. Something she instinctually knew was something she would naturally enjoy once she recognized it at first glance. The curiosity was too strong for her.

( _I'll put it to rest. Now, how to get across…_ )

The Weavile looked around for a way to cross the river without swimming. Being drenched in the bitter cold was unbearably unpleasant, to say the least. The cunning Pokémon looked to the left and found an ordered cluster of rocks she could jump across. Hopping across some rocks shouldn't be an issue with her dexterity. And it was a trivial task in the end. She lept across the large, smooth stones with little issue and crossed the river. The trees were densely packed against one another, and she could barely see anything past the wall of natural wood.

Now on the other side, the Weavile continued to sniff the air to find the strange scent's source, growing slightly stronger now she crossed the river. The Pokémon took the chase to the canopy by punch-climbing her way up a tree and hopping across the girthy, gnarled branches to pursue from above. She had practice this somewhat in the days after evolving, but she never had access to branches like this to play with before. So many different elevations, and all of them were sturdy enough to support her weight. It felt right abusing her mobility high above any Pokémon that would be either prey or troublesome to her, feeling untouched. All this time, her stomach fluttered in anticipation and hunger from actively stalking the unknown. But soon she would find it, whatever it would be, and investigate it up front.

Further ahead and on the ground was a frightened, chilly, Deerling with the first points of his antlers sprouting from his skill, left all alone to his wits, as well. The Season Pokémon kept thinking about the terror he experienced in the past week.

He was the only one that stuck to his father after the terrible incident of losing his sister to a duo of Sneasel and Weavile. The rest of the Season Pokémon bolted in all directions, some banding together later, while others were permanently separated from each other and forced to start anew, one such Pokémon was his mother. The Deerling was left with the mighty Sawsbuck father who challenged the Sneasel to protect the rest of the herd. Though ironically, it caused the death of his sister and the breakup of the herd. But the Deerling had to accept the loss from the act of evil and move on, staying by his father wherever they went. Oh, where did the mother doe go?

The calamity did not end for him there, as earlier, there was a sudden eruption of thunder behind them with the smell of brimstone while they were grazing on hidden grasses. He ran as fast as he could away, leaving the cloud of sound behind him. When he was far enough away to consider himself safe, he eagerly turned to see his father approach behind him. But he did not come. At first, the Deerling waited, thinking that he fell behind. But time past and he realized he was clinging to a fool's hope of waiting for his parents to return to him. The invisible terror had claimed the Sawsbuck, and left him orphaned on this umbra tundra.

The Deerling knew that the worst was over. It _had to be over_ ; it just didn't feel right having fate frown upon him so fiercely. No pair of black devils or deafening thunderclaps would terrorize him or any of his surviving relatives from now on, wherever they may be.

Right?

…

He kept a very paranoid state of mind, moving and looking around quickly, hoping in vain that a fellow Season Pokémon would find and give him the comfort of company. A few minutes ago when he was getting a drink, he sniffed out something odd. It smelt of something… fearful, something that should not be reckoned with at the river. He drank just enough to wet his whistle and quickly turned tail to hide in the woods.

" _It could not be that, could it? No, impossible. I will never again run into one of those monsters!_ "

It seemed the fearful scent was following the same path he was taking. It smelled much more potent and wet behind, indicated that it had either slated its thirst at the river as well, it swam across, or both. The Deerling tried to keep his mind under control and focused on a perfect pace between casual walking and desperately sprinting. The single, simple, terrifying thought of what the odd scent that had grown stronger meant was made him dearly afraid.

It didn't help that he heard creepy clicking and creaking of tree branches all around him as if the trees themselves came to life to scare the Pokémon away.

The sounds from the branches meant something much more menacing, unbeknownst to the Deerling.

Above the frightened, unevolved Pokémon was a hungry, natural born killer Pokémon hopping from branch to branch, gaily enjoying her new playground, in pursuit of the original scent across the river. It grew stronger and more alluring to her nostrils, feeding her maddening marauding personality of being a predator. Not just a predator, a _hunter_ stalking her next meal and making herself fully cloaked from her possible prey's perceptions. As she traveled below the tree tops, the wooden limbs started to thin and shrink, gradually bringing her closer to the ground, until she was approximately seventeen feet from the snow, or so. It made her closer to the scent that was driving her mad, but she could recognize it.

"What was it, _what was it?_ " she whined, wanting to put an end to this trickery and find herself a proper meal. _  
_Her question was finally answered as she hopped onto a stubby branch signaling the end of the wooden web. The Weavile looked down below, finally eyeing her prize.

It was a Deerling; shivering and looking frantic, as if he had forgotten something vital on a trip of no return. But it wasn't any standard Deerling that got separated from its parents. It was one of the Deerling from when the Weavile was still a Sneasel with the scout from her pack, working together to kill another one for sport. It looked in every direction: In front, behind him, to the sides, and even below him for anything that caused him angst. Every direction but up.

And she was directly above and behind him, looming over him in eerie, calculated silence.

He was totally unaware of the danger spying on him above; the black devil that claimed one of his relatives a few days ago. And the devil sat with two contriving, carnivorous, crimson eyes burning with bloodlust inside a mad, mutilating mind. Destructive roars of the past flooded her mind, roars and daggers from one like her. Those roars only fueled her feelings of superiority. He wasn't superior, mean, or cruel; _she_ was going to be all the aforementioned and more. This was her moment to live out her fantasies of being the big, bad Pokémon all others trembled at.

Her stomach suddenly felt hollow and called out to be filled again with a disturbed rumble. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was overtaken by the natural carnal cravings of a flesh-eater living in the frozen fields like itself. It's been such a long time she had a proper meal out of it, and he looked so plump. So vulnerable. So delicious…

How could any Pokémon resist the temptation to jump down and start having their way with the pathetic Deerling on the spot?

The Weavile asked herself that and agreed with the answer she immediately arrived at. She pulled back her lips in a taunting, terrifying smile and decided to toy with the Deerling first.

"And here we are, with some unfinished business," she called out from her little perch, making the Deerling freeze in place. His pupils dilated in shock and his spine coldly itched.

( _That voice…!_ )

The Weavile continued with her little speech, still remaining out of sight as the Deerling didn't dare look behind him at where the sound was coming from.

"Remember when you were with a lot of other stupid Sawsbuck a few days ago, and one thought he was some big hotshot for stomping and snorting in my face? Then one of my friends came and stabbed your buddy in the back. And then we ran off, laughing all the way back home as it bled out and probably twitched in agony! Surely that's still burned into your mind, right?"

The Deerling swallowed and slowly turned to face the voice behind him.

"And here you are, alone and without any Sawsbuck in sight to come and save you. Must be pretty bad for you being alone, huh? As for me, well, I'm used to being alone; I even like it. However, don't take it personally. I'm only in a bad mood because I haven't eaten all day. But, that's fine by me. Do you know why?"

The Deerling finally faced the talker in the tree. He broke into a cold sweat and stared helplessly at what he saw.

A black, conniving devil perched in a tree staring back with eyes and a crown of blood with three weapons at the end of each limb in front of a large, gorgeous, full moon in the black sky.

* * *

"Because that's about to change!"


	13. Chapter 13: Midnight Snack

The Weavile immediately jumped from her perch and spread her arms out as she jumped down, keen on opening with a double downward slash right at his face. The Deerling was unfrozen from her sudden movement and hopped away with a mighty leap. The Sharp Claw Pokémon's opening lunge was partially successful, as she felt a small amount of resistance for a tiny fraction of a second before her right arm paved through it without issue. It fiercely nicked the right shoulder blade of the Deerling, confirmed with a cry of anguish from the Season Pokémon. All that from a scratch that barely connected on the Season Pokémon.

( _So vulnerable indeed!_ )

He had spaced himself about twenty feet from the Weavile and stopped to look at his torn shoulder. There were three narrow, half-inch gashes around his right foreleg, hurting and starting to bleed. He could still run as fast as he normally could, but seeing and feeling this injury made him hyperventilate while adrenaline began to saturate his inner system. The Deerling was simply not as accustomed to violence like the Weavile was, and now he found himself pressed against the base of a gnarled oak tree.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon landed on one foot and one knee, cushioned from the snow underneath and was facing away from the Deerling. She corrected her gaze and gave a dark, ominous grin of jagged teeth with equally menacing chuckling through her closed maw. The Weavile held her bloody claw against her nose and took a deep, gratifying breath at it. She further taunted the Deerling by cleaning off his blood with her mouth.

The aspiring huntress put one of the bloody digits in her mouth to clean it with her tongue, savoring its unique taste. She made a drawn out "mmm" sound as she plucked the digit from her mouth with a quiet, wet pop sound and replaced it with another dirty one, repeating with the third one.

"Mmmm, mm!" mocked the Weavile at her cleaned claws. Now the black devil was on the ground, got the first strike on the Deerling, and acquired a taste for its blood.

Every neuron in her big brain was burning on overdrive; every thought in her consciousness was a feeling of ravenous, ravaging, bloody savagery that she had craved ever since that day. The Deerling looked so vulnerable, exposed, and pathetic that the only possible use for it was to become food for her. All she wanted was to sink her claws and jaws into the side of the Deerling and eviscerate it. The Weavile yearned to hear its screams of agony and death like any feeble prey Pokémon would make as a far superior being shredded it to an unrecognizable mess. The huntress's stomach churned and writhed in anticipation of being able to process mouthful after mouthful of tender, chewed meat right after she had made her kill. Experiencing the full thrill of disemboweling the Deerling and feasting on its remains, even if it was purely for pleasure, was an opportunity the beta was willing to take at any cost now that the beta evolved.

The Deerling was frozen again and hyperventilating from having a panic attack and fearing for his life. He couldn't decide what to do. He could run, but she would catch up, and running would only hasten the blood loss. He could stand and fight, but she was a natural-born predator and he was not, as he would surely lose against her claws and teeth.

While the Deerling stood there in indecision, the Weavile decided to taunt the Deerling some more.

"What's the matter, scared stiff?" bellowed the Weavile in a boisterous voice. "Look at me. Look at me right in the eyes and listen to me!"

"Wh-Wh-W-, Why, why are you doing this?" cried the Deerling in terror, "You don't have to do this! Leave me alone!"

The Weavile flexed her weaponized digits then allowed her arms to freely droop and sway over her knees with a little hunch from her back, complete with the delirious eyes of a serial killer.

"Why? Why am I doing this?" She spoke before stopping to laugh in hunger and stress-induced mania, "I have to feed myself, too, right? I can't just starve, can I? I'm just trying to make sure I survive the night and won't go hungry. Is there something wrong you see with that? Does the idea of me being independent and capable of feeding myself at my own pace offend you; do you think I should just walk away and just keep myself on tree bark? No no, nononono. That won't do, little Deerling. I prefer my meat _fresh_."

A wet growl rolled from the back of her throat and she scraped her claws against each other.

"Meat so fresh it's still _screaming_ as I plunge my jaws into it!"

Even the Deerling knew that she didn't sound right, even for a predatory Pokémon like a Weavile. The Deerling remembered a few things his mother said about how some Pokémon "don't think or act right" and how it's often a more serious issue than having a physical impediment. The same Pokémon are also prone to terrifying bouts of violence…

This wasn't a typical Pokémon he was dealing with. She was crazy. Heck, describing her as insane wouldn't do it justice. Or even saying downright delirious.

She was absolutely _psychotic_ ; little more than a machine of flesh and bone designed to kill, consume, and occasionally make more of itself, with little stoppage in-between either step. No sense of civility or reason could be employed against the red-eyed black devil come to reap the Season Pokémon's life.

And it easily showed. The body language, tone and speed of The Weavile's voice, and the way she got her point across all seemed off. To her, all thoughts that weren't along the line of _kill, shred, rip, tear, eat_ were quickly shunned from memory, especially things like _mercy_ or _reason_. Things she considered only prey Pokémon would think about in a time like this. Well, she had enough of being viewed as a prey Pokémon to the invisible, corrupting eyes of her peers or any others willing to judge her. The Weavile fully embraced the psychotic episode from the immeasurable abuse she experienced and let bubble over into physical trauma. The huntress finally got a perfect opportunity to let out all her rage and satisfy her maddening bloodlust.

The Weavile took slow, daunting steps towards the Deerling to pressure it even more in low growls, making it back up in accord out of control.

"Oh, don't think it'll be so bad. I'll put you to good use by ripping you apart, piece by piece, until there's nothing left for me to breakdown so I can start eating! I won't stop until you're dead, my belly's fed, and my claws are red! You're naught but nourishment to me, pathetic prey!"

The Deerling quivered under her verbal grinding heel as he gave his own input,

"You… you're crazy! You're a murderer! Murderer! And I bet you even killed my daddy with that loud sound!"

The Weavile heard of something like this before, of a loud sound and Pokémon being blown away by tall creatures. But she didn't know anything about this with the Sawsbuck that once accompanied the Deerling.

"Don't know what you're talking about. And you say _I_ am crazy? Just stand still, it'll be easier for the both of us!"

With his back against a wall and the Weavile getting closer, the Deerling had no choice but to fight the psychotic predator head on. He lowered his head and made up his mind. He was most likely doomed, but he would not go down without a fight. He would make his father proud standing his ground and making one of the Sharp Claw Pokémon think twice about picking on them or go out trying his hardest.

The Deerling tried his best at a snort-wheeze grunt like his father did to scare the Sneasel in the past. This snort-wheeze was much less intimidating and did little in making the Weavile back off.

"I'm not going to roll over and let you kill me! I'm tired of always running!" said the Deerling as it narrowed its eyes and adopted a side stepping, defensive stance. She saw it as a challenge and gladly accepted it, stiffening her claws.

"Heh, you think you're scary. I'll show you something scary. You'll just die tired!"

* * *

Immediately, the cornered Pokémon lowered its head and gave a fierce, head-first charge at the Weavile, taking it by surprise. With a puffy grunt, he smashed the top of his head against the Weavile's torso, ramming into her ribcage and marginally goring her with the stubs of his growing antlers. It felt more akin to being stabbed by a stick than an actual knife. Still, it was enough to inflict some damage onto his attacker and send her back aghast.

The Weavile tumbled back from her opponent's attack, underestimating how dangerous a cornered fawn could be. The Deerling then followed up with another headbutt aimed at her torso. He quickly stood on its hind legs to deliver several downward chops at her shoulders and face with surprisingly sharp hooves. The unevolved Season Pokémon was fighting with all its might, trying to make the Sharp Claw Pokémon back off in the act of self-defense.

The Weavile remembered a scenario like this before with the Pidgeot attacking the scout relentlessly while he was against pressed against a tree. Well, in her case, her back wasn't against anything, the Pokémon on the offense in question didn't have wings to dance in and out of arms' reach, and the hooves were not as muscular or sharp as the talons belonging to the parental Bird Pokémon. With an angry and delirious growl, the Weavile delivered a fast but blind swipe at the general direction of the Deerling, giving it a nasty scratch on its cheeks. It pulled back and slowed down from the pain, not trying to let up on the offense.

With an even nastier hiss, the Weavile recognized the right foreleg was moving slower than the left one. She stabbed it directly in the foreleg and dragged her claw down as far as it could go down the leg, effectively crippling the Deerling with a long and profound laceration running down the leg. A stumbling cry of suffering rung from the fawn and completely stopped the assault, limping to the side and hobbling on three feet. The Weavile's ears were rewarded with the signature bleat of a young Deerling feeling excruciating pain.

Fear once again tried to grip the fawn in paralysis, and was succeeding as his wounds worsened. He was having trouble standing up and not fidgeting, making it impossible to stand his ground. Now was the point he seriously considered hobbling or limping away, whichever one was faster. This was a losing battle from the beginning.

On the other hand, a seething grudge was imbued in the Weavile from getting attacked by what she thought was easy prey, albeit the pain signals were diluted to her. Little got to her head other than _strike, rend, maim, bleed_ , keeping her aloft and determined to make him pay for hurting her body and her ego.

She spat and wiped her mouth in a brisk motion to get ready to fight back. The huntress dashed towards the injured Deerling, now truly berserk. Out of reflex, the Deerling tried to smash its own head against the Weavile to intercept it, but the predator moved way too quickly for him to retaliate with his wounded leg. A claw ran forward and made a vicious horizontal swipe against his face and onto his left foreleg, then a follow up going in the opposite direction. The predator repeated this again and again with wild swings and angles slicing across his face, torso, and legs. If he got away or the somehow got the upper hand, there would already be lingering damage done that would stack up in her favor. Soon there was a broad-sized gash peeled into the Deerling's body and badly bled.

Each swipe stung worse than the last one was more of the Deerling's hair was cleaved off and the wounds were building up to expose more of his skin layers to even stronger attacks, making him hurt and bleed all the more. Each swipe also whisked more and more of the Season Pokémon's willpower to fight, his brain failing to tell him to switch from fight to flight. His opportunity to flee vanished long ago, and he was going to pay the price soon from the black devil dancing along the snow. The scent of blood and sensation of tearing away muscle only compounded her savagery, making her hit harder and faster from multiple angles to pile on the damage.

Instead of continuing to scratch up his chest, the huntress wanted to ensure there would be a zero percent chance of the Deerling finding the strength to flee, robbing her of a good fight. Her claws targeted its left foreleg, slashing and slicing the limb in the midst of disgust. Small chunks of meat were ripped off from the leg around the front shank, making it collapse onto the snow. A stray claw was then thrown at the Deerling's face, managing to puncture one of the Season Pokémon's eyeballs and permanently blackening most of its vision in excruciating pain while it twisted around inside the cavity until the Deerling pried itself off the stiff claw in a shoddy side leap backward. Now the Deerling was thoroughly crippled

His body twisted and jumped back to yank itself away from the claw that claimed one of its eyes. It bleated repeatedly as it flopped around on the reddening snow, calling for parents in pain that would not come to his aid. The fawn decided to make one last attempt to run away, fearing it was far too late; _anywhere_ other than here was desirable as he tried for a leaping stride to get him away. He didn't even succeed in standing up as his legs gave up. The front half of his body abrasively fell onto the snow a second time, refusing to work and carry him away from battle. Blood was now profusely squirting out of his major wounds as he twitched, making it a struggle even to stay conscious.

In his one remaining eye, he painfully craned his neck up off from the snow to see the psychotic Pokémon squat down and making a cross between wailing and hissing. The Deerling's last thoughts were incoherent, simple survival instincts trying to tell its broken body to get up and run away in vain.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon wailed and leaped on top of the Deerling's side, burying both of its claws into its innards and clasping onto something fleshy and slippery from within. She violently tore her hands out and pulled out a portion of the Deerling's intestines with so much force she nearly lost her balance and fell over. She was donned with the Deerling's entrails as it loosely looped and hung over her neck and shoulders. As quick as her claws tore back into the torso of the Season Pokémon, they were torn out again and again, repeating as necessary and loving the short-lived struggle by the Deerling's last living moments.

The Weavile projected all of her frustration and negativity onto the dying Deerling's side by manually grinding him up into mincemeat. The huntress continued to enjoy herself in the middle of pure animalistic carnage fueling her psychotic high as she donned herself with the Deerling's entrails, not caring if she had truly gone mad. Whatever the explanation was, it felt so _fantastic_ and so _fitting_ for a Pokémon of her caliber to tear up one that was too vulnerable to not exploit _._ Maybe it was for the better she did go mad, at least shredding up some dumb and defenseless Pokémon was betting than always downplaying herself, in her mind.

And it lasted for only a moment or two, just long enough to fully expunge all of her frustration and put the Season Pokémon out of its misery.

When The Sharp Claw Pokémon finally came to, she stopped and surveyed the dead Season Pokémon. There was no sign of life; only an enormous bloody cavity carved into the side of the Deerling. The entrails she donned slipped off and sat alongside the desecrated Deerling. She backed up a little and looked around, wondering if her madness was witnessed by any other Pokémon. Exhilarating, calming breaths were drawn by the predatory Pokémon, increasing the satisfaction from her bloodlust and good-feeling lightheadedness by breathing in the brumal atmosphere.

She studied the carcass and shot a glance at its bloody face, replaying the moment dozens of times in a second in her head.

"I… killed it. I killed it all by myself, with no assistance."

The Sharp Claw Pokémon blinked and had a smile from ear to ear.

"Ha…Hahahah…!"

The Weavile couldn't contain her excitement and let it out with loud, crazy cackles. This was a monumental moment for her, for she could finally recognize herself as a huntress. It was about time the Weavile proved to herself that she could be a force to be reckoned with.

One less Deerling, one less Season Pokémon roaming around, and because of it, several less of the same Pokémon that would potentially be roaming the lands in the future. The huntress considered this the best service she could give to nature. And the huntress always considered Pokémon like that as food when she was on the low end of the totem pole. Nothing more, nothing less, just food.

Her stomach rumbled at the most opportune time, and she was soon ready to reap the well-earned fruits of her labor. The Sharp Claw Pokémon looked at the pile of meat directly in front of her. She gazed at the Season Pokémon's lifeless body.

A pile of meat. A succulent treat.

All of the juicy, filling meat, fat, and organs in front of her.

All of that nutrition. All of that protein.

All of those raw biological components begging to be freed from their carnal incarceration to overflow into her cells after settling into her stomach, applying themselves to the greater purpose of building a bigger and better Weavile via indulging in chewing through the little resistance of the Deerling's succulent flesh.

Her bloodlust was almost entirely satisfied, and the small part of it that was unsatisfied began to creep into her brain to deal with it. Together, she thought about all the carnal things only a Pokémon like herself could enjoy.

Eat.

Feed.

Devour.

 **Consume.**

* * *

At first, the Weavile cleaned her claws to savor the blood already on them. At first, she went slowly, but the taste was too delicious to her hollow belly to go slow. Once her claws were clean, she carved out a fisted-sized piece of meat from the Deerling's torso and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed it and felt its juices and texture spread across her taste buds, burrowing into her brain and overriding all other senses.

It was the most delicious thing the Sharp Claw Pokémon ever ate.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon could feel her body craving everything about the enriched, juicy, tender flesh of the Season Pokémon. She could almost feel all the nutrition and proteins left behind metabolize into every last cell of her being. The Sharp Claw Pokémon finally lost herself in the sensation of devouring the freshly killed, well-fed Deerling at her pace.

The Weavile tore handfuls of flesh apart and shoved more into her maw to chew it into a fine, sopping pulp and send it down the hatch. Every flavor set her tongue ablaze in predatory bliss of eating her first independent kill. _Chomp-chomp-chomp-*GULP*_ went the Weavile with a satisfied exhale of feeling the food mass slide into her belly. Moist lip-smacking sounds of a one-Pokémon feast whistled threw the silent brumal night. The first handfuls of meat only made her belly burn brighter with hunger.

The Weavile lowered herself and thrust her jaws into the upper portion of the carcass, greedily and merrily grunting while forcing more food into her maw. She dug out a magenta colored organ she assumed was a liver and scarfed it down in addition to the common muscle and fat. The organs tasted even more nutritious than the pure meat and muscle, and each of them tasted differently to her, making her curious about trying as much of the Season Pokémon as possible. Small droplets of blood and saliva went from dripping down her chin into a miniature river of juices with every exaggerated, open-mouth chomp full of flesh from the Deerling. The Weavile hardly cared about those juices running down her mouth, or the fact she was still coated in its blood, nor did she care much for table manners as her mouth was terribly stained red.

She was in _paradise_. The Weavile would not have wanted it any other way.

All she cared about was eating and filling her gullet with the most tender, juicy, delicious meat she could ever dream up. The huntress bit off large portions of it with her sharp teeth and scooped even more generous portions into her hand waiting to replace the mouthfuls she was already working on. The Weavile feasted in undisturbed jubilance upon the carcass, relishing every minute of it. And all of it would be given to her body for it to combine with so it could repair, upgrade, and grow. Grow big and intimidating as a sign of status against the next Pokémon she was dreaming about meeting and butchering to use it as sustenance.

And none of the good bits would go to waste.

Many minutes passed as the Weavile worked her way through the carcass, chomp by chomp, ounce by ounce, gulp by gulp, lost in the carnal joy of a good meal. Who cared if she had to do this to survive? Hell, she was intended to do this. And she was already looking forward to the next time she would find another Deerling or similar prey unfortunate enough to cross her path. She didn't stop eating; she _couldn't_ stop eating with how badly she was starving.

There was only about a third of the sustenance left on the body before she started feeling full, and that only made her feel more welcome to keep on chowing down. As the Weavile dusted off the last of the edible flesh, she felt her stomach stuff and stretch. She was obviously not accustomed to eating this much as once. The Sharp Claw Pokémon allowed herself this, at least once, as a reward for her perseverance. Any thought about the consequences of overeating was shoved aside, instead favoring to shove the last clumps of flesh into her maw to use for her body's own purposes.

Only a few more minutes passed, and she stopped to look at how far she got in eating up the Deerling. She was stunned by the amount she managed to consume. The only pieces left untouched were the legs, outer skin and pelt, spinal cord, tail, neck and head. Mere scraps of flesh and organs randomly littered the area and all of the bones in between, picked clean of any sustenance that was attached to them. All of the good bits were chewed up and being digested inside her.

The Deerling was nearly picked clean! Heck, it now resembled what she would've subsisted on if this Deerling was brought back to her pack, at best! She felt so happy being full for once.

"Heh, I was pretty hungry, huh?" she rhetorically spoke to the Deerling head and cleaned herself off. That was the first time she had ever stuffed herself to the point she felt a little sick, but it was worth it. Whatever would come by later for a midnight snack would be left with a sad surprise. All that was left was to find a good spot to sleep safe and sound so her stomach could easily digest it.

The exiled Sharp Claw Pokémon didn't even think about returning to her pack or the wrath of the alpha. She didn't feel like walking much, anyway. Why bother when she found out she's more than capable of surviving out here? Who said that she couldn't be alone out here? She was independent. The Weavile could do whatever and whenever without any unfair oversight of the alpha.

It was better off like this.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon sawed off a loosely connected leg to gnaw on for later and strolled for a few minutes, getting away from the carcass to find a safe spot to sleep for the night, giggling like a ravenous, blood-drenched Pokémon would.


	14. Chapter 14: And Who Might You Be?

Just a few hours earlier, in the dying hours of daylight, the two hunters were preparing to butcher the Season Pokémon they brought down and recovered. It was a longer, harder trip back to the cottage due to the extra weight they had to lug with them. Both of them shared the weight as much as they could to make the burden lighter as they retraced their steps, thinking about the reward such patience and persistence offered by the brutal Unova snow lands. A treat both of them could enjoy; a large fridge packed with the venison. But first came the last step before they could enjoy another juicy, sizzling slab of a steak.

Butchering and meat processing.

They had returned, safe and sound, and prepared the next step of their hunt. The two men went inside to warm up for a bit and set aside their gear, and then they went to the rear of the cottage. There was a simple wooden contraption of thick beams, ropes, hooks, and chains in the middle of a darkened red ring on the ground accompanied by several buckets and tables. It was Wilson's personal Pokémon processing station to carve the meat from the bones and prepare to store and add the finish touches to later inside the cabin.

"This is our next stop," declared Wilson, "I'll handle most of it from here. You can peel back some of the meat as it gets carved off to help me out, though." He hitched the Sawsbuck carcass on its hind legs onto the do-it-yourself processing station. The Pokémon was fastened tight and was suspended a few inches off the ground, able to loosely sway in the air like a pendulum. Once it was hung up, Wilson took out his hunting knife and started to expertly flay pelt off the Pokémon. Jack looked a little intimidated as Wilson effortlessly went from step to step of the butchering process, shuddering at the morbid thought of Wilson snapping and doing this to a live one.

Almost in the blink of an eye, Wilson managed to peel off the pelt to the head and shove it off the side. Now there was a rich, red body made up entirely of pure muscle hanging upside down, lined with a few streaks of white connective tissue splashed on it.

Jack's mouth started to water at seeing all of that meat waiting to be carved up. Wilson thumbed the tip of his knife and addressed the novice hunter.

"Butchering is pretty simple, just carve and peel it off the bone. This knife will give me no problems slicing through it. I can do this all by myself, but I want you to come closer to learn. It's kind of fun, even."

Jack went to Wilson's side and intently watched as his grandfather started cutting through the meat at one of the Sawsbuck's hind legs. The venison was no match for his knife as it sawed and carved through with minimal resistance. It seemed more like cutting through soggy bread and jelly rather than stiff, bountiful muscle. It only took a few seconds for Wilson to cleanly shave off a slab of pure, red meat bigger than his fist from the carcass's connective tissue and bones.

Even the _raw meat_ of the Pokémon looked appetizing him, and he never paid much attention to where his meat otherwise came from!

"There's a good roast right here!" Wilson exclaimed with a proud smile while holding the venison, "and there's plenty more where that came from, hehehohh."

Wilson put the slab of meat in a bright blue, tall bucket for later. Then he immediately resumed sawing on another part of the Sawsbuck, carving it up into dozens of pieces that could easily serve as a daily meal by itself. Jack helped by carefully holding and peeling the drooping muscle away to give Wilson a better opportunity to shave it off the bones. Once it was free, Jack deposited it in the blue bucket and went to the next one. All the while, Wilson yammered on about some pointers for butchering the Pokémon,

"You can eat the connective stuff if you don't mind the gamey taste, though you can honestly leave it alone with the scraps since we're after the good stuff. I would use a shorter one, so I have a lesser chance of cutting myself, but, eh. Just gotta get as close of a shave as you can, so as little of the meat goes to waste. There's more tenderloin meat hidden by its legs than most people think, so don't wanna pass that up... there we go. You can leave those lymph nodes alone; you don't wanna eat the nasty stuff they collect… ah, a nice piece from its flank. This'll be good after I fry it with butter and spices."

It was getting dark right as the two men finished dressing the deer. All that remained was a hollow, sickly-looking body with the head still intact. What was left would be turned over to the gut pile while the blue bucket was piled high with chunk after chunk of perfect meals in the making.

"Well, that was way better than scooping its guts out," said Jack as he picked up the bucket. Wilson wiped his forehead and knife before replying,

"You're right about that."

He motioned to Jack to go back inside with the meat bucket.

"Head back inside. I'll deal with the venison and this nice trophy later. Tomorrow I'll send it to the taxidermist, and I'll have myself another beautiful trophy."

"How long will it take?"

"Shouldn't take that long, probably an hour at most."

As Wilson thought about how long tomorrow's trip would take, he considered what other things he might want to do during the trip. He rarely returned to cities and towns during hunting season, but when he did, he made sure to knock off as many things on his list as he could. He wiped his forehead and knife clean and reflected on what else would be good to touch on tomorrow.

"Since I'm going to the city for a change, I'll want to do some more stuff rather than sell some meat and get a trophy. Probably gonna get my gun checked out and pick up more ammo for us, so it'll take probably two hours at least. Not to mention stopping by a mechanic and getting my old vehicle looked at. Wanna come with me?"

Jack adamantly shook his head. He was just getting used to being out here, why go back now?

"I'll stay here," the grandson answered, "It's growing me on."

Wilson gave a chuckle and motioned for his grandson to go back into the cabin.

Jack happily followed his command and went inside the warm sanctuary. Wilson stayed out longer to deal with the intact head of the Sawsbuck, getting it ready to separate it from the body and turn it into a taxidermy trophy. Jack placed the bucket on a table and was about to call it a night, letting his grandfather handle the rest. It didn't seem like that long of a day, but it was already night, and he was whopped! But since Wilson would be gone for some time tomorrow, what could Jack do to pass the time? This was still Wilson's property and possessions, and he didn't want to risk ruining anything. He'd surely find a way to keep himself occupied.

Jack crawled into bed after a quick change of apparel, satisfied with how today went.

* * *

The night passed and soon came the new day. The Weavile found a tidy spot to sleep for the night upon a mesh of thick branches above the ground, allowing her to climb with the leg in her mouth. She awoke with the leg across her stomach to remind her of her feast. She giggled to herself and bit on the leg, using her mouth as a third hand, as she climbed down and realized that she didn't clean herself of the blood. The Weavile still looked as menacing as she did hours ago.

"Heh, I wish I could do that again!" she mused as she bit another strip of venison off the leg, immediately reminding her of the tender taste of Deerling meat. It didn't taste anywhere as good as the night before, but she didn't mind since there was still a lot of it inside of her. The huntress didn't need to feed for a while, as it freed her up to see what these new lands had to offer. On the other hand, she did feel bloated once she sobered up. Not like she minded, it was a sign she finally had a good meal. There was plenty of meat remaining in her stomach to digest and fuel her activities, albeit slower to due feeling full.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon prowled the ground, exploring the lands beyond the cave. Much to her surprise, or lack thereof, everything continued to look the same. White rolling hills and bare, stiff trees as far as the eye could see, with the occasional rock or depression to spice things up a little. The large gray clouds above to match the ground didn't help much. She sighed at how dull it started to look. At least she added color to the scenery, what with her indigo backside and the faded red color on her front from forgetting to clean herself from the Deerling she slaughtered.

"Maybe I should clean up…"

The Weavile ambled on, nibbling on the Deerling leg occasionally and trying to scrub herself clean with handfuls of snow. It was rough against her fur, and it was much harder to clean than she anticipated. She may be a predator and liked the idea of getting splashed with the remains of her prey, but going clean was the better option. The Weavile got as much as she could off, mostly the surface layer and the stickiest clumps, but felt a bit off.

" _Ohhh, I did eat a lot last night. I'm sure I'll manage._ "

Eventually, the woods started to thicken again, making it a bit difficult for her to maneuver around tighter trees and surfacing roots. Within minutes, she smelled something familiarly fleshy, exactly like the entrails she dug out of the Deerling. Only this one smelt much staler, and weaker.

Curious, the Pokémon followed the source, crouching and weaving through tight brambles to reach the origin of the familiar scent. She arrived at a small circular clearing about ten feet in diameter and saw a splotch of dark-red snow and a few traces of unrecognizable flesh. Coming towards her were small hoof prints left in the snow, and going away from the red splotch were large, very outlandish looking footprints. She sauntered to the red mark and sniffed intently, not getting a scent as powerful as before.

Something was killed here, and something was hungrier than her last night for it to leave even smaller morsels behind. And thankfully, it was long gone by now.

Her free hand patted the ring, picked up one of the smaller morsels, and pulled it to her nose. It smelled loosely like the Deerling she ate; perhaps it was another Season Pokémon?

The odor suddenly got way more repugnant, indicating that it was not fresh, but not quite old yet.

The Weavile had a sour face and sneered at the morsel of flesh, looking away and moaning " _eeeyuurch_ " and threw it to the ground. She resumed her prowl when she noticed the trail of bizarre footprints leading away from the red marking. They were big and vaguely bean shaped. There were two sets of them left in the snow with different patterns, indicating two travelers. One had an intricate pattern of horizontal and vertical bars, while the other had a pattern of mostly squares. They lead into even deeper parts unknown of the woods. Her curiosity was burning brightly as she knelt for a better look.

"This is new," she said to herself while studying the unique prints, "I've never seen these before." She looked up and tried to follow the path they led to with her eyeballs, feeling uncertain about pressing forward. The Sharp Claw Pokémon scratched her chin and got up, making up her mind, "well, whatever it is, it won't be a problem for me."

She followed the set of prints, being ready for anything to lash out from the scenery. Wherever they would lead, The Weavile would find out. Maybe she could meet and entirely new Pokémon.

All the while she subconsciously felt a faint feeling grow in her stomach, twisting and burning inside her…

* * *

Back at the cabin, Jack woke up and sat in bed, rubbing his eyes and trying to sober up fully. He got out of bed and realized that Wilson wasn't there.

"Oh, he must've left already…" murmured Jack as he got out of bed and changed into proper clothing. He was alone in a remote trapper's cottage, filled with trophy Pokémon heads, guns, ammo, and meat. All alone in a climate that is commonly well below freezing at any point of the year, with boreal acres spanning for miles in every direction, being stared down by a bunch of inanimate, still heads mounted on the walls looking in one direction for eternity. Jack made a few silly faces at a mounted Stantler head above the fireplace, knowing it was just an object now. The amount of Pokémon his grandfather shot sure was something. As well as the number of guns he owned.

Jack threw on his thicker clothing and walked around the cabin. There were a few sandwiches on the eating table left for him when he woke up. The novice hunter sat down to his breakfast, munching away and looking around the establishment.

He noticed that Wilson's hunting shotgun, the Model 1897, was left on the wall over his bed. Jack thought that this was weird because Wilson talked about taking it with him as he went back to town to pick up some things. Then again, for a gun with that history and quality, did it ever need to be brought to a gun store, disassembled, and repaired? Jack shrugged and kept eating. It was Wilson's firearm, not his. And Wilson has been shooting stuff a lot longer than he has, so it was possible that it didn't need to be brought to town.

Or he forgot. Either one would work.

Jack finished his meal and tried to kill time by looking at his grandfather's gun collection. There were a whole lot of firearms in the cabinets, and who knows how many were hidden around his property. They were somewhat organized; the longer ones on the standing up on the sides or at the top and bottom, while in between were all sorts of handguns of various size and caliber. It was a very impressive collection, though Jack wondered how many bullets were fed through them, let alone fired at least once. Right in the middle was the revolver Wilson brought with him for insurance yesterday, gleaming spotlessly on top of the chest holster.

"Supposedly has more kick than his shotgun, huh."

He thought about opening the cabinet and getting his hands on the revolver, pretending he was some hardened soldier. He protested against it, knowing that all of them were Wilson's. It was also unclear if any of them were loaded, broken and inoperable, or were not meant to be touched by naked hands. Jack got up and gave a soft tug on the cabinet door, realizing it was locked and wouldn't budge.

So Jack moved on to his grandfather's exposed hunting shotgun, carefully handling and examining it in his grasp. He handled it before, but it always felt such a joy in his hands with the history, sheer stopping power, and image it carried. It was a damn good gun, menacing and characteristic even when unloaded. He worked the pump a little, studying how every piece worked and moved together. Except there was something off about the slide.

It felt stiff, stuck, and stubborn. The young man had to use much more force than before to fully pull it back and open the mouth underneath the frame. It felt sticky and awkward, making him realize that something was malfunctioning. Maybe Wilson forgot to take his shotgun with him, of all things, and it was best to put it aside and not dare to shoot or even dry fire it right now. Jack's heart started to beat harder as he put it back on the wall like nothing happened, hoping that he didn't break it just now.

He admitted to himself that it was for the better he left Wilson's guns alone unless he was given permission otherwise. But Jack still felt so bored being cooped up in the cottage. Jack just wanted to do something to pass the time until Wilson returned.

However… Jack still had _his_ gun he could handle however and whenever he wanted…

And it didn't look _too_ terrible out. For one, it wasn't snowing and the clouds had considerable breaks in them, like massive slabs of ice floating in the sea. Every now and again, the sun peaked out, casting its brilliant rays on the landscape before fading out from a large cloud passing in front of him. Because it did not snow, the footprints he left remained in the snow. Maybe he could retrace the path he and Wilson took yesterday and see if there was something new for him. And it wouldn't be difficult finding his way back to the cottage.

He scratched the short, growing stubble on his chin and felt butterflies in his stomach. As weird as it was, going out for a hike didn't seem like a bad option to him. Sure, he would be alone, and Wilson could return quicker than expected, which would cause a bigger problem than boredom. Jack knew his grandfather was gone for a while. Nobody was there telling him what he could or could not do, including going outside to deal with his cabin fever. Heck, he might even successfully shoot something out there!

The budding outdoorsman threw on the rest of his outdoor gear, especially his Encore and the holster he bought for it, to get out and get some fresh air by retracing the path he and his grandfather took. Jack clenched his teeth and stepped out of the cabin, embracing the drastic different in temperature and set off to the trail.

The Weavile traced the odd footprints in the snow, not knowing nor caring where they might lead. Following the footprints deep into the foreign parts of the ice domain felt exciting to her, a challenge she wanted to carry out and finish. The severed leg of the Deerling was still in her clutches with its upper half completely gnawed to the marrow. Now it was about as filling and nutritious munching on a dried stick. She idly peeled back some of the fur and skin near the hoof, not wanting to consume it and ruin her morning snack with a bad taste of plain fur. The curious Pokémon continued to follow the tracks and felt the sickness in her stomach accumulate.

At first, the Pokémon ignored it, thinking it was just indigestion. But as time passed, the feeling worsened and spread like a virus across her body. The sick feeling in her stomach spread to her limbs and head, replacing strength with aches. She grunted at a headache popping up out of no and once more tried to ignore it. A simple headache and sick feeling erupted into something much, much worse as she started to heave and feel the pain in her belly become exponentially agonizing.

It felt as if there was an angry, shrunken Scolipede thrashing inside her, awakening from a bad sleep and making an uncomfortable itch go to agonizing irritation in her bowels from terrible poison. Her limbs waned and shivered against her will, threatening to give out at any moment. Her headache turned into splitting nausea, and her entire body felt as if it was simultaneously boiling and freezing. Out of panic, she looked behind herself, vision going slightly blurry and fuzzy at seeing and hearing things that were not real.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon's mind race as she tried to figure out why she was feeling ill while clasping her stomach to ineffectively quell the agony. Pokémon don't get sick like this for no reason, and this severe, right? Getting infected with something like this was impossible! She shot a glance at the severed leg still in her possession to try and get any clues.

And that is where the Weavile's eyes were pried opened and dilated in horror as she figured out the reason for her sudden illness.

The Weavile stared at her belly as her illness worsened by the second. She just remembered that she scarfed down almost a whole Deerling in one quick sitting. Somewhere along the line, she swallowed a mouthful of something she shouldn't have. Whether the entire body was tainted, or it was an organ she forgot about as a toxic control center, dealing with loads of hazardous substances that needed time to be neutralized.

She engorged herself on contaminated meat, and it was still being digested and redistributed to the farthest corners of her body!

The Sharp Claw Pokémon took a final, furious glance at the severed leg and chucked it far from sight, frothing with a terrible feeling of poisoned betrayal. One hand was cupped on her forehead and another was cupped on her stomach to provide wasted comfort. The Weavile wandered loosely along the trail of odd footprints in food-poisoned agony.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon did her best suppress the ailment as much as she could, but it was a battle she was losing. There were burning, freezing aches acting all over her body and popping in her joints while her stomach now felt like it was being cut up. It got hard for her to even _walk_ let alone focus on some markings in the snow. The Weavile started to moan and groan in pain, feeling like absolute shit in the middle of nowhere.

And worse came to worse as there were probably other Pokémon stalking her from afar, waiting for her to collapse to move in and have the easiest pickings they could get this winter. She was not the only one out here, after all. It compelled her to start running through the snowy fields, expending precious energy that would be better off in fighting off her newly acquired sickness instead of hurrying her along. It was not like she wanted to take a risk, isolated in the ice, as there was always something else snooping around, waiting for the perfect moment to jump in.

* * *

Time seemed to go way faster for Jack as he retraced yesterday's path through the wintry woods. He felt protected and independent with his Encore slung on his back, ready to be drawn and fired at the slightest bit of trouble through the barren trees he passed. The footsteps he and Wilson made were thankfully still fresh in the snow, and occasionally he saw the light markings of Pokémon footprints in the mix. He wondered where they came from, what left them in the snow, and where the Pokémon that made them be now. Continuing their endless walk, stopping to rest or fight, or stopped dead altogether? It was a perfect opportunity to learn more about the boundless wild and the creatures living in it because he was most likely going to go hunt all by himself one day, and figuring out how to track Pokémon was vital. Jack kept an eye out for any unusual markings left in his surroundings to investigate, where they went and perhaps where they ended as he continued his brisk walk.

And Jack stuck to the old path through the silent and secretive white woodland, reaching the invisible midpoint of the journey he and Wilson had yesterday. The young man caught a glimpse of something exceptionally striking against the scenery far ahead.

He stopped and focused his eyes on an upright darkened mass with something red right above it, lethargically moving through the snow, making quiet moaning sounds. Jack's heart skipped a beat as his drew his single shot firearm from his holster and slammed a .308 round into the chamber. His hands had a death grip on the gun as he cautiously approached the peculiarly colored figure. Jack's jaw dropped once he realized what it was. It was something so stark, something so contrasting against the white void of the woods.

* * *

It was a Weavile.

The very same Pokémon Jack's grandfather hated with all his soul.

* * *

Jack got in closer and stopped when he heard a gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable sound up ahead, from the Weavile.  
The sickened Pokémon's illness grew to a boiling point, making her agony audible as she dropped to her knees and starting to breathe like she was in labor. She felt her heart madly drum against her chest, trying to escape. Her stomach and esophagus suddenly felt crushed, forcing the Weavile to all fours and closing her eyes.

She gave a mighty heave and violently vomited onto the snow; it was her body's most direct and impetuous way to purge the sickness from stuffing herself. The contents of her stomach were vehemently emptied and bile spewed onto the snow, taking with it unrecognizable chunks of half-digested meat with it. The Weavile paused and torturously purged her system of the entire infection once more with another repulsive act of vomiting, carrying away as much of the food poisoning from her system as she could. The next few ones were not as punishing as the first two, but continued until there was nothing left to expunge, leaving the Weavile with a hollow belly. All the while, she felt as if she was covered in tar and set alight, succumbing to the sickness even as it was leaving her.

Jack further approached the Pokémon, trying to not vomit as well from witnessing something so vulgar, and plain _wrong_. The Pokémon stopped purging itself, and starting to stand back up, making Jack freeze in place and point his gun at the pitiful Pokémon.

She finally stood up and opened her eyes, her world suddenly going very fuzzy. The Pokémon got on her feet and saw a tall, blurry object in front of her, not moving at all. The Weavile took two crooked steps forward and stopped to stare at the tall and fuzzy object.

The Weavile leaned forward slightly, like a hunchback, allowing her arms loosely dangle in front of her. Her claws rested in front of her knees, twitching. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was marked with many scars, scuff marks, and cuts; evidence of countless past conflict. Her breathing was no longer audible to Jack's ears as it went deathly silent, pumping hidden air through her lungs. Small, unidentifiable fluids dripped from her mouth and silently fell onto the snow, vanishing on the ground. The Weavile felt her limbs shaking in weakness and chills, similar to a rickety building foundation about to topple from the weight.

But the most remarkable feature was her gorgeous eyes of scarlet being partially obscured by her upper eyelids that were drooping halfway across her eyes.

Eyes that gave a cold, vacant, thousand-yard stare with her lips slightly curved downward at the human from the sheer trauma she had to endure up to this point.

Eyes richer than the reddest rubies.

Eyes sweeter than the richest red velvet.

The Weavile took two more delayed, crooked steps towards the figure, felt her world suddenly go black, and collapsed face first. At that exact moment, a cold wind and light snowfall whistled through their souls.


	15. Chapter 15: Knowing Me, Knowing You

Jack was in awe of what he witnessed. He never saw a wild Weavile before, let alone one that looked so miserable out here. The blood-stained coat lined with so many scuffs and scratches, the sickness and purging he witnessed, and overall pitiful display from the Weavile was something he never imagined seeing out here. Jack did not know how to react to something like this. Wilson was not with him, and there were no other Pokémon accompanying the Weavile from what he could see. It was just the two of them.

He started to shiver and breathe through his mouth while clenching the gun, uncertain on how to proceed. The young hunter timidly approached the face-down, motionless Pokémon with a shaky gun muzzle pointed in its vague direction. He eyed it with every baby step he took and accelerating heartbeat in fear of it making a sudden movement. Still no signs of life or motion came from the collapsed Pokémon as it was now at his feet.

Jack crossed his Encore rifle against his chest and snapped the chamber open, double-checking if he loaded a round into it. There was a small brass ring plugging up the barrel, confirming his suspicions. With a crisp click, he closed the gun and placed his thumb on the back of the hammer, making a quiet click of its own from being at full-cock.

Jack swallowed and lined up a point blank shot on the Weavile, lightly pressing it against the back of its skull while not looking through the scope. His arms started to sway and shake in unease. A maelstrom of emotions was hurrying through him, creating a silent argument on what to do with the Weavile.

Jack recalled the words Wilson told him about the Sharp Claw Pokémon.

 _[They spread diseases, kill off all the other good game, and destroy your home without reason. That's what you get if you want them around. Do you really want them around?]_

 _[They are like giant Ratatta. Even worse than giant Ratatta, they are far worse. They're Ratatta with sharper claws and brains.]_

 _[Pests. Nothing more!]  
_ At the same time… the Weavile just looked so _pitiful_ being like this. Those gorgeous red eyes he saw, staring into his soul, and giving him a sight he would never forget. Something tugged at Jack's heart, making him reconsider what he had heard about the Sharp Claw Pokémon up until now. He gritted his teeth and continued to push the hammer down, unable to cock the gun any further and locking him a rear-positioned hair trigger.

Then again, why would any creature have to put up with this for any amount of time? The Weavile wouldn't last a few hours out here in her condition. And judging from the sounds she made, was already experiencing hell on earth. All Jack would have to do is give the trigger less than half a squeeze to euthanize the Weavile, putting it out of its misery forever. He rested her trigger finger right on the hair trigger, feeling how sensitive it was.

He would be doing a Wilson a favor, telling him that he killed a Weavile and presented its corpse as evidence. Jack might even be lavishly rewarded for doing so, knowing how much Wilson hated them with endless rants about them being destruction species, doing environmental damage, and spoiling hunts for others.

( _But what if Wilson was wrong about the Weavile?_ )

" _Pull the trigger!_ " he wrestled with himself, unable to reach a conclusion

" _I… I can't..."_

" _Oh, sure you can. Just move your finger just a little bit and you'll be ending this_ _Pok_ _émon's existence of suffering and making your grandfather proud."_

Jack could feel sweat beginning to trickle down the sides of his face from the tension. His face momentarily shifted from a look of intense determination to doubtful, second-guessing reconsideration if shooting it would be the right thing to do.

" _But… what if Wilson was wrong?"_

" _You've listened to and agreed with everything he said up until this point. And you've shot_ _Pok_ _émon before, and you didn't have any trouble then. Why have trouble now? Do it."_

" _But-"_

" _Just do it!"_

" _I can't!"_

" _It's clear this one's as good as dead! Putting it out of its misery would be doing everybody a favor! It, you, and your grandfather! You know it'll be simpler for everybody involved! What are you waiting for? Just pull the fucking trigger!"_

Jack pressed the muzzle against the back of the Weavile's skull again, sealed his eyes shut, turned his face away, and made a made an intense, woeful whine of indecision.

Jack pulled the trigger while still holding down on the hammer with all his might, suddenly feeling the hammer resisting his thumb. A soft ~ _tick_ ~ came from the metalwork inside the receiver.

The gun did not go off as Jack had kept the hammer pulled back and restrained, stopping it from striking and firing the cartridge.

Jack meticulously relieved the pressure on the hammer from his thumb and made it gently fall against the firing pin, so it did not fire the loaded bullet. The young hunter then took the gun away from the Weavile's skull, removed the unfired cartridge, and placed it back on the stock band. Now fully rendered safe, he pointed it at the ground with one hand, muzzle down, and stared at the blacked-out Weavile in struggling shivery silence.

A quiet, soft voice in the back of his head told him that he made the right decision.

* * *

Jack looked around the bleak landscape, seeing no other living creatures in a weak attempt to find a reassuring second opinion for his judgment. The young hunter couldn't muster the courage to put down a Pokémon in such a sorry state. Instead, he showed something his grandfather probably never did against any wild Pokémon he encountered: mercy.

Jack holstered his rifle on his back and crouched over the Weavile. Upon closer inspection, it had a short pair of feathers on the side of her head, indicating it was a female. Bloodstains are absent on her backside, allowing her natural indigo coat to shine. The young man took off one of his gloves and ran a finger from her scalp to her lower back, feeling her fur. It felt luxuriously and astonishingly plush, thick, and soft to his fingers. If he had to compare it, it was akin to a brisk wind on the face during the first day of winter. His exposed hand rubbed the tip of her feathery crown between his index finger and thumb, feeling waxy, healthy, and sturdy.

Jack slipped his glove back on and thought about the next course of action regarding the Weavile. He thought about turning around and running as fast as he could back to the cabin to report to Wilson on what happened. On the other hand, he couldn't _leave_ her passed out from sickness in the snow and at the mercy of other potential Pokémon.

(I could never put down a Pokémon like this, but I can't leave it like this. If another Pokémon comes along when it's like this, it'll be far worse than being humanly put down… )

He scratched head and thought of something wild, controversial, and most likely a horrible idea regarding his grandfather.

(It's coming with me.)

Jack cracked his neck with the help of one of his hands to prepare himself for what was to come.

The budding hunter gently scooped up the Pokémon into his arms and cradled her in his arms against his chest like she was his child. The Weavile was much bigger than he thought, and had a lot more weight to her as well. Jack rocked her back and forth smoothly and tried to make her as comfortable as he could in his hands. The Sharp Claw Pokémon did not stir in the slightest in his arms for she was still in a deep, automated sleep from the food poisoning. Resting allowed her body to combat the traces of infection left behind, and she would surely succeed against the bodily civil war inside her as long as she was given enough time.

But not if she was out here any longer than she had to be.

Jack turned around and urgently retraced his footsteps back to the cabin.

It did not take long for Jack and the Weavile to return to his grandfather's cottage. Jack wasn't even sure why he was rescuing the Weavile. He had barebones medical training at best, but he knew he could do _something_ to help nurse her back to health. And if Jack succeeded, what would happen next? He didn't think too hard about the future and focused on the task at hand.

Jack took a few steps to the side, looking to see if Wilson had returned home. Fortunately, his truck wasn't there, and Jack breathed easy knowing that he could try to help the Weavile without his grandfather making trouble. Jack went inside the cabin with the Pokémon still in his clutches, still not moving a muscle against his chest, and laid it on the bed he slept in.

He sighed uncomfortably at realizing that most of the firewood was reduced to ash, quickly causing the interior to grow cold. He went over to inspect the fireplace and thought about throwing another hunk of wood to feed the flames and generate more warmth. Then Jack shot a glance at the Weavile on the bed. She was naturally accustomed to cold environments, and her kind probably wouldn't enjoy much heat seeing how effective it was in battle. However, a little warmth shouldn't kill her. And Jack was not as accustomed to surviving out in the cold as she did, and he was taking her life into his hands right now.

"Maybe she'll be better without a roaring fire," Jack said to himself and only threw the smallest visible pieces of wood on the fire, "I still need to keep warm. I can always put covers on her or something."

With the chill being taken off from Jack, he approached the Weavile again and remembered that her coat was quite dirty with frozen blood. It seemed that she tried to clean herself off, but didn't get very far in doing so. Jack made his way towards the sink and let the water run to warm it up. He reached for a handful of large rags, separated one, and ran it under hot water. With a soaked rag in hand, he approached the Weavile and started to scrub her front half clean, starting with her face.

The Weavile stirred a little from getting her faced scrubbed, but didn't awaken or make a fuss, allowing Jack to wipe almost all of the blood from her face. Her face was darkened from the water left behind and had a little glimmer to it, making it look more like a stunning midnight black than a dark indigo color. Jack chuckled at getting one part of her clean and moved on to the rest, each part causing her to make a slightly more of a fuss than before.

When Jack got to her left kneecap as the final part to clean, the Weavile finally regained consciousness. Her scarlet eyes slowly opened, and she regained comprehension and thought of the world around her. The first thing the Sharp Claw Pokémon realized was she wasn't face first on the snow anymore. Rather, she was on her back on something very cushiony and comfortable, like she was floating on top of a sea of clouds. Additionally, there wasn't white around her. Rather, all sorts of various shades of golden yellow-brown were in every direction, and it felt much comfortable than before. Although, something didn't seem right. The Weavile felt wet all over like she went for a quick dip in the river she crossed. Did she black out and drift to some unknown location? The Weavile panned her view up and saw the tall figure she met just before blacking out swabbing her left leg with a dark, wet object. He was too occupied in finishing cleaning her to notice that she woke up.

He still had the same clothes on when she saw him before; a thick arctic camo coat with matching pants, decorated in many splotches of white, light gray, and occasional black. He had blue eyes and the starting growth of a beard around his jaw line and a strip above his lip. A simple black cap was on his head, hiding most of his hair. What hair she could see was long, round-pointed hair colored black and grew downward as far as his nape.

His other arm was pressed around her hip, restraining her on top of the comfy cloud.

Was this one of the humans she heard stories about?

She gave a light gasp, accidentally bringing the human's attention to her. The two of them made eye contact up close; sapphire eyes of surprised goodwill connected with ruby eyes of alarm and panic. When their eyes met, she gave another whine and tried to squirm free. The Pokémon abruptly stopped as her movement started to make her hurt all over again, not as much as before, but enough to dissuade her from keeping at it. She was down to aches, an empty belly, and overall feeling weak. At least her stomach didn't feel like it was being slashed and burned from within. The human tried to took appropriate action now that the Weavile was awake.

"Easy, easy there," cooed the human while taking rag away from her limb but still holding her down at the hip to make sure she wouldn't escape or squirm, "I'm here to help. You threw up and passed out from some sort of sickness, and I just finished cleaning you up. You're still sickly, so please don't move a lot, okay? It's for your own well-being."

The Sharp Claw Pokémon was somewhat pacified by the human's soft, gentle voice. The Weavile still did not know what do other than her innate instincts of escape and self-preservation, given the absurdity of the new environment. Last she remembered, she was throwing up all over the ground and blacked out from the painful feeling of being stricken with an extreme case of food poisoning. Now she was in an entirely different environment and being cleaned up. Something didn't feel right here. Paralysis from uncertainty and her sickness forced her to be at the mercy of whatever the tall figure had in plan for her.

It wasn't like she had much of choice. Traces of the infection lingered inside her, being combatted by her body's immune system to clean up what was left. Much of her strength wasn't in her body, instead replaced by weariness. The Weavile knew that getting as much rest as possible was the best course of action for recovery. That was all she could do for the moment. She stayed put and tried not to show any weakness to the tall figure that cleaned her.

"Good, just rest," further cooed Jack as he took his hands off the Pokémon. He got up and went to place the dirty rag in the sink to be washed later, allowing the Weavile a much better view of the new environment. There were tall walls in all directions, meaning she was boxed in. Even if she got up and wanted to flee, there were not any places to go. She sniffed the air, smelling something ashen and burnt. The Weavile turned towards the center of the wall to the right, noticing chamber carved into the wall. Inside was a cloudy, gray mass of ash with a few hunks of tan wood thrown in, starting to burn and grow flames below. It was a gentle warmth to bring her more comfort, and she didn't mind.

But her attention immediately turned above the fireplace. Right below the ceiling was a densely-populated row of severed heads of Pokémon, mostly from Sawsbuck and Stantler. Her eyes widened in horror as she studied the row of heads on the wall. All of them were cleanly cut without any drops of blood on them or tears. Each head vacantly stared in a different direction with a permanent neutral expression. They stared on perpetually with inanimate, lifeless, cold eyes throughout the residence. Some of them were even vaguely looking in her general direction exactly like the rest. And on the floor was a large, flattened Ursaring sprawled against the wood with an open mouth facing the fireplace. It looked as if it was a snapshot of it wanting to cry in suffering, but could not. Its maw perpetually hung open to taste the smoke and ash escaping from the fireplace. No matter where she looked, there was at least one Pokémon trophy off in the distance, cursed to forever stare with a frozen gaze in a chosen direction. And there seemed to always be room for just one more head to join their ranks.

Sharp Claw Pokémon may be vicious, bloodthirsty, and downright devious, but she _never_ heard of any beings chopping off the heads or the skin of their victims, preserving them, and keeping them as souvenirs from a bygone hunt like a sick joke. This was a whole new level of savage mockery to her. She muttered something under her breath,

" _A… human? The same thing that uses a tube for a weapon that is said to have killed my parents?_ "

The final nail in the coffin was the Weavile twisting her head above and to the right, getting a weird angle of something strange on the wall. It looked a lot like a metal, elongated tube coming out of a block that was in turn coming out of a rough piece of wood. It instantly reminded her of the scout's story about a tall monster using a tube-like weapon that could instantaneously obliterate anything with a deafening and blinding blast of sound and light. It confirmed every bad thing she thought of just now. She was at the mercy of one of the humans her pack mates talked about on occasion, and nobody talked about it lightly!

The Weavile wanted to scream. She swallowed air to feed her vocal cords to do so, but could not. Invisible, serpentine fear wrapped itself around her throat, stopping her from screaming. The Sharp Claw Pokémon had no idea where this place was or how far it was from where she collapsed.

Why was she here? If this human wanted to help her, why go through the effort of cleaning her and propping her up on a comfy cloud below? Was her head about to join the others on the walls?

Did she die and arrive in the afterlife?

* * *

Suddenly the Pokémon didn't feel so trustworthy towards the human.

Jack gave a quick glance at the weary Weavile, her gaze darting all around the ceiling in panic. He looked up in response, seeing what was stressing her out.

Jack didn't want her getting up and thrashing inside the cabin, tearing it up and putting more stress on her body. The young hunter opened the refrigerator and fished around, pulling out a girthy and well-wrapped slab of meat from the back. He set it on the dinner table and got a small knife to carve off a piece of venison about as big as his thumb. Jack dangled the piece of venison in front of his face, attracting the Weavile's attention. Her mouth was opened and puckered slightly in surprise.

"See this?" Jack called out as he approached the Weavile lying on the bed, eyeing the venison intently. The Weavile suddenly frowned as she remembered that it was the same piece of food that got her sick and in this situation to the first place, dissuading her a little bit. However, the wind in her stomach convinced her to forget about the food poisoning and accept the free treat. Hunger did start to set in after her purge, after all.

Jack called to the Weavile again while offering the piece of meat, "I know you're sick, but you have to keep your strength up. It's frozen, but I promise you it's clean." The Sharp Claw Pokémon eagerly sat up and snatched the snack in its claws. It gave a few curious sniffs, smelling like the Deerling she tore into if she did it in a blizzard. The famished hunter bit down on the frozen tidbit, effortlessly tearing half of it off in her mouth. The taste was similar to the Deerling meat she ate. It was tougher and far chillier, but had much more flavor that danced on her taste buds and instantly shot into her brain. It must've been meat from another Pokémon.

She devoured the rest of it with a small smile to nourish her body. Her eyes looked much more friendly and calm towards Jack taking the hint to carve a few more pieces from the raw roast.

He cut three more servings and fed them to her one by one. Each tidbit was scarfed down faster than the rest, making her stare back with greedy eyes of growing trust. Jack cautiously extended his hand to pet her across the forehead. The Weavile stood still in curiosity, allowing him to caress her. Two fingers gently ran across her forehead below her scarlet crown, feeling that marvelous luxurious fur once more. She seemed to like it, and his hand moved across her face to scratch behind her left ear, coaxing out a quiet, but happy purr from the Sharp Claw Pokémon. The Weavile was readily accepting that fact that the human was here to help her out, starting with cleaning and feeding her in a safe location.

"You're not so bad actually," Jack complimented on the Weavile for warming up to him with compliant behavior. "You're kind of sweet. To think, a Pokémon like you could have a soft side, heh. I heard your kind is pretty smart, too, and you've seem to realize I'm not going to hurt you. That's good you can understand me."

Jack stopped himself and realized he has not formally introduced himself yet.

"Oh, by the way, my name is Jack. Jack Hotchkiss. You can call me Jack."

The air of skepticism hovering around her was dissipating as the female Sharp Claw Pokémon consorted with the human that got her out of the frozen woodland. Her head started to bob to make his hand scratch more space around her hand, being quiet and peaceful. No Pokéballs were required to domesticate and get closer to her. Jack almost thought that she was his and not an ill Pokémon he rescued and nursed just long enough to get her back on her feet.

Jack quietly expressed the thoughts he was having while interacting with the wild Weavile. "It's almost like you're mine now."

Jack pulled back in hearing his words. What did he just say? She was his now, like Jack actually went out and caught her?

He kind of did, just not with a Pokéball. And she was acting more friendly than he'd expect for a Pokémon like her, like most Pokémon do after they've been caught and let out of their ball.

If that weren't the case, he'd have pulled the trigger with his thumb off the hammer by now or desperately try while she aimed to skin him alive.

Jack nervously scratched his nose and beard, unintentionally making the Weavile frown and whine in the disappointment of not getting scratched behind the ear anymore. Was she really his Pokémon now? He thought about all the possible scenarios that could happen later regarding her well-being. Jack could eventually release her once she was healthy enough to fend for herself again. But there was no telling when that would happen. Or, he could keep her around for just a little longer. Jack was starting to enjoy the company of the Sharp Claw Pokémon, even if Wilson would critically detest it.

And she was highly intelligent, too. Any other Pokémon he'd try to do the same thing with would have probably already scrambled to the floor, and utter destroyed the cabin or attack him out of sheer instinct and confusion. In her case, she quickly understood that he was here to help and played along, letting him clean and feed her without a hassle. There was no chance that she belonged to another human. Who else would be in this corner of the region with a Weavile, lost without any sign of previous ownership? She was wild, but already acting domesticated, and plausibly belonging to him now?

Jack's face drew a blank expression. He muttered an empty " _Wow…_ " at his situation. He helplessly shrugged and accepted the fact that this Weavile was now his, at the very least for the time being.

"I guess you're mine now," he deadpanned, not knowing what else to say, "That means I have to give you a name or something to address you by." Jack walked up and down the narrow space in between the two beds with the Weavile watching him patiently. Come to think of it, she never really got a name herself back when she was with the pack. At least, not a name she wanted to be called by, like _runt_ or _parasite,_ from the alpha.

Jack stopped and looked up, pinching and stroking his stubble as a lightbulb popped in his head. What he would call her seemed to fit her so well.

Jack turned to the Weavile and spoke,

"How about "Cleo"?"

The Sharp Claw Pokémon zestfully perked up at hearing that word. That word he addressed to her.

Cleo.

Yes, that was it. She loved the sound of that word. It was a beautiful word that reverberated in her ears.

 _Cleo._

It was **perfect**.

She sat up straight and purred in approval from the sound of the name alone.

However, she immediately turned to a clicking sound at the door and saw it fling open, letting in a gust of icy air. Jack looked at the door as well. His blissful ignorance no longer carried him aloft, dropping him head-first back into the harsh reality of the man who owned this cabin.

Wilson Hotchkiss.


	16. Chapter 16: Burdens

The cabin door flung open, letting in a blast of icy air into the cabin as in stepped Wilson, his clothes and face lightly rimed. In his left hand was a cube-shaped bottle with a pitch black label containing a deep amber liquid, its level matching the top of the black label. Wilson made a little bit of a stumble into the door with a berry-red face. He gave a deep exhale once he stepped into the cabin, belching a rank, putrid stench of liquor, making Jack wince.

Wilson had finally returned from his shopping trip, but he made a quick pit stop for his favorite whiskey, guzzling down some of it on his way back in impatience. Jack knew what potent alcohol could do to a hermit as bitter as the frozen wasteland he was living on.

And it was the key ingredient of cooking up a recipe for disaster as Wilson's eyes beamed at Jack kneeling beside a sick and weary Weavile on his bed. The older hunter's grip on the bottle tightened and his face was wildly flustered at seeing one of the Sharp Claw Pokémon he hated from the bottom of his heart inside the cabin.

Wilson pointed at the Weavile with a thick, gloved finger, "Jack? What the hell is this?"

Jack was still from the cold creeping in from the open door and his grandfather's reaction. Cleo was also stricken with a similar fear from hearing the other human's voice raised.

"You… you brought a fucking Weavile? You _BROUGHT IN_ a fucking Weavile on _MY_ property!?"

Jack took a step to try and calm down his grandfather by explaining what happened.

"It's not what you think!"

Wilson furrowed his brows and scowled devilishly. He took a massive swig of whiskey and slammed the door behind him, pointing at his grandson in anger awakened by bad memories and booze,

"Those things are fucking _atrocities!_ Didn't I tell you that they're a _SCOURGE_!? You know exactly everything I told you about them! And now you brought one into MY house, on MY property, feeding it MY food and using MY bed? What the **FUCK** is wrong with you, Jack?!"

Wilson slammed the bottle onto the table and pointed back at Cleo.

"You have ten seconds to explain yourself, boy! Ten fuckin' seconds!"

Jack stretched his arms out in trying to plead with Wilson. The young hunter did his best to explain the situation.

"You-You were gone, and I wanted to pass the time, so I took a hike! You know, stretching my legs and getting some fresh air! I walked the same path we took yesterday, following the prints because it didn't snow at all, and-"

"You went out alone? Without any protection?" Wilson rudely cut him off. Jack shook his head and continued,

"No no no, I took my rifle with me for protection, in case something attacked me. And I walked on and on, recognizing the trail we took and then I saw it."

"You saw what?"

"There was this Weavile, just slowly wandering and looking sick, and I crossed paths with it."

Wilson gave a furious look at Cleo, still feeling weak and weary on the bed, frozen and staring back with her scarlet eyes. He shot a glance back to Jack, questioning him even more,

"And there was just this one?"

Jack uncomfortably nodded his head while Wilson shook his in disbelief.

"Boy, you do know they travel in packs, right? How do you know that there wasn't another dozen of them nearby? How do you know you didn't forcibly separate it from the others, and making them follow your scent all the way back here? Now they know where this is!"

Wilson snatched the bottle of whiskey from the table again, ready chug down another mouthful in disgust,

"You said it was sick? Well, then how the hell do you know that you're not gonna get sick by touching it?" He stuck the bottle's neck in his mouth, cocked his head up, and guzzled several large mouthfuls of booze, slurring his speech and feeding his temper. "And how do you'a know that it ain't gonna mistake ya for meat and start tearin' your guts out? I don't wanna spend the huntin' seas'n taking care of you, or any fuckin' Pokémon I told you to leave alone! Everybody I ever talked to agrees that they oughta be shot on sight because they're a damn scourge!"

Jack's heart and stomach started to hatefully twist inside of him, giving him a loathsomely warm feeling in his chest from embarrassment. He didn't want to agree with him here, but he was right. He handled her with his bare hands inside the cabin, and what if he got sick by making bodily contact with her? What if her pack wasn't that far away and they would frequently be coming to the cabin because they picked up his scent? Even if she was brought back to good health, what if they reject her from having a human's scent and want to disassociate with her? And worst of all, how could he be sure that she wouldn't turn on him? They have a devious and dangerous reputation for a reason!

Jack awkwardly stumbled through his speech trying to find an excuse for his behavior, but all he could muster were disconnected "Um..."'s and "uh…"'s. His grandfather did not take any of that as an answer.

"And look at her feathers. You know what that is you brought, of all things? A _female_ one."

Jack turned around at Cleo, growing more afraid of the second human with every word he bellowed towards her.

"And what the hell are you gonna do if she's pregnant or attracts some horny Pokémon and haves babies on my fucking property? Because that's the last fucking thing I need to deal with! MORE of them! I do _**not**_ want any Sharp Claw Pokémon here! Do'yo understand me, boy? Huh?!"

Wilson stomped towards Cleo, shoving Jack aside in anger.

Jack put his hands up in exasperation, "Grandpa, please! You've been drinking! You're not the same person when you're drunk!"

Wilson violently turned one-hundred and eighty degrees to yell at Jack in a whiskey-filled rage,

"And who the fuck are you taking the high road when you are bringin' Weavile in my house when I'm gone? How do I know I can trust you now when I'm gone now and that you haven't been lurin' more ov'em here? I ain't gonna deal with it! No, not now, not then, not never!"

The hateful hermit ignored his grandson and glued his gazed on Cleo trying to tuck herself back from Wilson, unable to stand up and slash him from her weakness. He broke his gaze momentarily to pull down his Model 1897 from the wall.

Jack's stomach plunged and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

Wilson threw open the nightstand drawer to fish for ammunition while hollering, "And I for one will not stand for this! I'll end this right here, right now!"

He grabbed a red shell of buckshot and drunkenly slammed it into the feeding tray on the belly of the gun, barely managing to push it into the magazine. Cleo shuddered at hearing the clicking sound, the trademark of the human's weapon. It perfectly matched the description of the scout; a long, metallic tube making strange sounds. All that was on her mind was that monstrous thunderclap with the last thing she may see being the supposed split-second flash of light; almost like her parents. Her innate fight-or-flight instincts failed her, forcing her to remain frozen in fear on the bed while her body was too busy cleaning up the last of her sickness.

Jack scrambled towards Wilson, desperate to prevent arguing turning into bloodshed.

"Grandpa, please don't! You don't have to do this! We can talk this over!"

The furious hunter vehemently shoved his grandson back with his right arm, making him stagger and almost fall. Wilson gave the action slide a solid thrust backward, making the pump action shotgun's signature loading sound. Wilson hollered at Jack struggling to regain his balance, aiming the Model 1897 right at the grandson in a fit of blind rage,

"You can talk to my twelve gauge! Don't get no closer, or I'll blow y'all to kingdom come with that fuckin' minge bag o' yours!"

He snapped his aim towards Cleo, making her stare down the point-blank barrel of the firearm as Jack heart-wrenchingly cried,

"Wilson!"

Wilson pulled the trigger.

And then came a hollow click, causing Jack and Cleo's hearts to stop for a second.

* * *

Wilson blinked dumbly at his shotgun not firing the buckshot. He pressed it again and again, essentially dry firing it multiple times. Wilson fiddled around with the pump slide and accidentally ejected the perfectly fine shell after a forceful racking, trying to figure out what went wrong. He grimaced and huffed while trying to fix the malfunction, thinking it was a feed issue but not fully understanding why.

"Dammit," he cursed sharply, "why da fuck won't this work?"

Jack got a glimmer of hope at the shotgun's malfunction. He knew that something was quite right with the pump, the gun's main method of feeding and ejecting rounds. Wilson totally forgot to bring it with him during his trip back to the city to get it checked up and fixed. Jack thought it was a miracle until his grandfather gave it a few forceful thrusts, making a nail-on-chalkboard type of sound and grabbing another round from the nightstand. This time it loaded and appeared fully free from whatever malfunction caused difficulty.

Jack couldn't put up with any of this anymore and made a crossed the line separating bravery and stupidity. He crouched and hesitated slightly behind Wilson and snatched the model 1897 from his grandfather, spinning away and quickly pointed it towards his drunken grandfather. The shoe was now totally on the other foot as Jack scowled and pointed his grandfather's gun away from Cleo and towards Wilson.

"Jack!" Wilson called as he slowly put his hands above his face, "give me back my gun!"

Jack took a step back with the shotgun still aimed at Wilson. The hunter had fire in his eyes and genuinely contemplated shooting Wilson for a fraction of a second. He could, in fact, end it here.

But Jack knew better. He strained the overworked slide some more and safely ejected the unfired cartridge, quietly rolling around on the hardwood floor. The gun itself was braced across Jack's chest in a death grip, now totally harmless outside of bludgeoning.

"It's over," rose Jack's voice, "Nothing's getting shot here."

"Boy, give me back my gun!" Wilson hollered at his grandson, "it's mine!"

The young man furrowed his brows and clenched it tighter in stressful silence. All Jack wanted to do was help the sick Weavile he met in the wild. If it meant he had to wrestle with Wilson's weapons, so be it.

"I want to talk this over." declared Jack while motioning to Cleo.

Wilson slowly turned his head to the right, seeing the Sharp Claw Pokémon almost fully break into tears judging from the quiet sobs from the trauma going on. And here Cleo thought she could finally get her life flatlined. No more troughs following peaks, no more downs following ups, and no more bad situations following good ones. Even for a Pokémon like her, she still had a soft side. The Weavile's emotions managed to move Wilson's heart just a little to cease his violent tendencies and discuss the Pokémon.

"Alright, fine. I'll give you ten seconds to talk." Wilson said with a heavy, tempered sigh. Jack now had two bargaining chips at his side, allowing him to open up civil discussion about what will come next. Jack rotated one of the tall, green chairs and sat on it with one leg crossed over the other, and Wilson's shotgun resting in his lap.

"But I'm still gonna get rid of this Pokémon. You do know that, boy?" Wilson argued, "Even if I don't blow its brains out here, I'll just do it once it's outside!"

"I just wanted to help, that's all," reasoned Jack, "what would've you done if you found it like I did?"

"Put it down right then and there," answered Wilson. "With _my_ gun."

Jack looked at the floor, puzzled and embarrassed.

"Doing that would've been the smart thing to do, Jack," the grandfather continued, "Would save you from getting sick from touching that thing, and would save me from high blood pressure! You don't think my health is as good as yours up here?"

Jack tried to regain control of the discussion, "Listen, I'm not going to let this go to waste. Surely there's something I can do with Cleo to help us. Like… Like…"

Wilson shook his head in surprise and threw his arms up in the air in disgust. "And you've even named it, ppphf. Listen to me well, boy: you know that I'm right. I've been up here longer than you've been alive, doing what I know best: hunting. And when I say thatt'a right thing to do was to not even bother or put it down instead of bringing it inside, _you know I'm right_."

Jack grew increasingly uncomfortable as he thought of every plausible reason to keep Cleo around. Out of sheer desperation for an answer, Jack looked at his grandfather dead on and gave his reason.

"She could help me hunt."

* * *

Wilson was genuinely baffled by his grandson's response.

"What?"

"Weavile are supposed to be good hunters like you, right? Well, if that's the case, maybe she can tag with me and help me hunt. They should possess keen senses to be good hunters, after all."

The grandfather scoffed at the young man's proposal. Hunting with other Pokémon was spoken of occasionally, especially by those wanting a more orthodox or challenging method of hunting. But doing it with a Weavile? That was unheard of to the veteran!

"Are you serious?" Wilson deadpanned with a soft, almost joking voice. Jack started to get more violent and angry towards Wilson's attitude, growing the impact his voice carried,

"I don't want to have my act of kindness go in vain just because of some stupid incident you had a few years ago that made you forget what hunting is all about."

That got Wilson's attention, making him sober up.

"Watch your mouth, boy!"

Jack cut him off, now very coolheaded but still controlling,

"Listen. I still have a lot to learn about hunting, but I have a good idea. Even though she still needs a lot of time to recover, you can tell that she's already calmer and controlled than any other Weavile, right? And she'll trust me a hell of a lot more than she'll trust you since I'm the one that rescued, cleaned, and fed her. Not to mention, you don't survive out here being weak. Otherwise, I wouldn't have run into her in the first place. It's not much, but if you can just give Cleo and me a chance, I'll be able to leave my mark as a hunter. It can work out, me and a Pokémon working together, and maybe you'll change from it. I can you promise you that I'll make you proud."

Wilson felt so personally offended that his grandson offered to use a Weavile as a hunting partner. He hated Sneasel and Weavile alike, but on the other hand… Jack was still his grandson. Jack sincerely meant what he was proposing about keeping Cleo as a companion and using her to aid in his hunting expeditions, and Wilson knew that. He looked over to Cleo, who was glaring back with wet eyes of a Pokémon that does not know where to go. The boy was adamant on keeping her around and making damn sure that this wouldn't be all for just a headache and high blood pressure for everybody involved. Wilson clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and stood there stumped.

"Well, how about it? Are you going to let me or not? Then why else would I have come here if not to learn and grow through your passion?"

Wilson sat down on his bed and wiped his forehead in defeat. He submitted to Jack's proposal and would temporarily allow the Pokémon he despised to be spared.

"Fine. Go ahead. And I'm only gonna let you do this once."

Jack warmed himself with a smile. His right index finger was over his lips, concealing his smile, and pointed his eyeballs towards Cleo with reassurance, then pointed them back to Wilson who was back on his feet.

"I was worried about you for a second," confessed Jack, "you really need to stop drinking and letting these Pokémon get to you. There's no reason to get so pent up over them. So what if it happened a few years ago? That was years ago. Let it go for once."

Wilson faced his grandson, now sobered up and in a much more civil mood.

"I should be more concerned about you, Jack."

Jack drew a surprised, worried expression.

"What? why?"

Wilson slowly walked around the cabin to explain.

"You're still young and have so much to live for. But when you're young, you don't know any better. There's some stuff you should know already, and some stuff you do, but that's how you learn. And here I am, scoffing at the idea of using a Pokémon to hunt by my own grandson."

Wilson stopped in front of a window by the door to gaze at the endless white abyss outside.

"That's why I like it out here so much, things are so different up north, and it's the perfect test to prove if you can adapt and overcome. It's easy to lose yourself out there. Your fantasies of being a real man by going out there will be the death of you."

He then turned towards Jack and Cleo.

"We can't go as a trio. Pairs work best out here, and your idea of going with that Pokémon won't work with me tagging along. You'll need a guide, or at the very least, better protection for yourself out there. I don't want you dying out there from a pissed off mother Ursaring if worse comes to worse."

Wilson cracked open one of the gun cabinets he was proud of and pulled out the revolver and chest holster. Jack went starry-eyed at seeing the shiny six-shooter being brought to his face. He distinctly remembered how Wilson said it was designed to be Ursaring repellent, and with how it could be carried in the holster, ready for a quick draw anytime.

"This'll probably be your best bet out there. Now hold still…"

Wilson made Jack stand up and slung the holster over his grandson to make a few adjustments for a perfect snug fit. He then gave the revolver to Jack, who instantly sheathed it in the holster, feeling most of the weight concentrated over his left hip. The gun was empty, but he felt very protected nonetheless.

"And this thing will stop an Ursaring?" questioned the young hunter as he patted the holster.

"There's still a lot of dangerous Pokémon out there. Although this area is known more for Sawsbuck and Stantler, it's not uncommon to find Ursaring out there. And if you do, well, you'd better hope you know how to use it. Still, you should hope you'll never have to use it."

Jack pulled out the sidearm and swung the cylinder open, spinning it around a few times, noting the durability and quality of it.

( _This thing could easily bring something big down_.)

"Hopefully you remember what I said about it packing a punch. It's not meant to be shot a dozen times every day. It's for your own protection as nasty as it is. If you thought my Model 1897 was rough, well, this one is far worse. Imagine trying to absorb the same amount of recoil in a gun a fourth its size. Still, I think you need to shoot it at least once to get familiar with it. Just once at the range, and nothing more for now."

"What about Cleo?" Jack protested, wanting to not leave her just yet when she was still stuck on the bed. Wilson sighed, still upset over the Weavile.

"Fine. You can stay with her for a few more minutes if it makes you feel better. But it's either me or it that will be with you in the next hunt. Either the one that knows every trick in the book, or you and some Pokémon that you can't even speak the same language in. If you're going to take her, you'll need to be familiar with what this gun has to offer. Speaking of, hand me back my shotgun, now."

Jack reluctantly gave the shotgun back to Wilson and held it against the back of his shoulders across his head like a soldier. He waited at the door, silently egging on Jack to check up on Cleo.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon still didn't know what to make of the situation. She was considerably shaken up by the violent atmosphere but seemed to have calmed down and stop sobbing. Jack knelt beside Cleo and stroked her on the back of her skull, behind her crown of feathers to comfort her. He got up and moved to the table that still had the slab of venison and knife, shaved off a piece about the size of his fist, and went back to offer it to her. Cleo watched the revolver jiggling ever so slightly in the chest holster fitted on Jack, quickly learning that it was another one of those tube weapons that Wilson threatened his grandson and her with.

"It'll be okay, trust me." Jack reassured Cleo while holding out the chunk of venison, "feel any better?"

Cleo snatched the piece of meat and greedily gobbled it down, feeling a little better at getting another serving of venison. The Weavile didn't say anything else and slowly worked herself off the bed, feeling groggy and not able to fight, but capable of standing and following Jack. She could soldier through this if it meant keeping Jack company and getting rewarded with more meat and the eventual promise of going back and having a hand at killing something again.

( _Looks like I'll just have to follow you. Maybe the human will feed me again, that would be nice. And maybe the other one will leave me alone, or I'll scratch him up like that Deerling. One step at a time, one step at a time…_ )

"It seems Cleo's healthy enough to follow me around," answered Jack as he made his way to the door, "she just needs to take it slow. I'm glad she's on her feet again."

Wilson didn't say anything and went to grab the provisions needed for target practice; ear protection and ammunition. He gave another disappointing look at Cleo, who responded with a low, mocking growl towards Wilson. The older hunter shook his head a little in disgust and led the way to the firing range on his property. If he was going to trade Wilson for the Weavile for his partner on the next venture out, now was a good time to get him broken in with other guns, starting with the six-shooter for personal protection against ferocious Pokémon.


	17. Chapter 17: Accustomization

The trio went outside to get Jack accustomed to Wilson's hand cannon at the range. He was a little nervous about firing such a strong gun, given his experience with Wilson's shotgun. But now he knows what to expect when it comes to more powerful firearms, and in a life or death situation, it probably wouldn't matter that much if he enjoyed shooting it.

Jack was just happy Cleo was on her feet and capable of following him. The worst was over for her after she purged herself in the wilderness and got some clean meat to snack on. She was still dealing with residual sickness, and rest was the smarter thing, but curiosity was getting the better of her. Cleo wanted to tag along with Jack to learn more about his behavior; she would catch up on rest later, just as long as she didn't need to chase down a Buneary or something. On top of it, she could see if these weapons were all that they were cracked up to be, with their explosions and sheer destructive power.

Figuring out the strange cylindrical crunching under her feet would also be nice.

The hunters and the Sharp Claw Pokémon looped around to Wilson's firing range, still set up with the same targets Jack plinked at in the past. Wilson approached the table and opened one of the boxes of ammunition, pulling out one of the cartridges to show to his son. It looked about an inch and a half in length with a dark gray bullet sticking out of the casing.

"One of the good things about a stronger revolver is that you can often shoot lower-power ammo in it. I'll let you start with some more mild rounds, some forty-five long, so you get a better feel for the gun. When you're comfortable, we'll move up to the rounds the gun was made for. Load as many as you want, but don't point it at me."

Jack pulled out Wilson's revolver and swung open the cylinder, grabbing a handful of the mild ammo, dropping them one by one into the chambers. Now fully loaded and ready to go, Jack snapped it shut and took aim at one of the Stantler targets. He opted to pull the hammer back for a crisp single-action shot with mild ammo. Both hands gripped it tightly, took aim, and gave the trigger a good squeeze with his right index finger.

*PAAWWP*

It felt pretty slick in the hand to Jack despite the muzzle kicking a couple inches in the air.

Cleo, on the other hand, didn't like the sound of the gun at all. The sonic booms hurt her highly sensitive ears and dissipating gunpowder cloud agitated her sensitive nose. Not to mention the microsecond of light from the muzzle confirming the rumors she heard about the weapons the humans used. Cleo suddenly started to regret following the human that helped her outside as it shot guns, wishing to go back and snuggle on that comfortable cloud of a bed instead of having her senses irritated while still half-sick.

Jack was too busy aiming downrange to notice the Pokémon's plight. He gave two more single action shots in quick session. Out went two more very manageable *PAAWWP*'s from the six-shooter. Now down to three at the range, Jack decided to just pull it normally to try the double action. The trigger still felt wonderfully smooth, but had much more resistance, biting into the accuracy a little more. Yet another *PAAWWP* came out, kicking the muzzle a few inches into the air and being brought back to a straight level. The last two bullets followed the first four, soon making hollow clicks from the gun now being out of ammo. All Jack thought to describe it was _smooth_.

The shooter opened the cylinder and poked out all of the empty casings with the built-in ejector rod. Cleo looked up with relief that the next trigger pull didn't make any more smoke clouds or loud noises. She perked up at sound of brass falling and colliding with other cartridges already expended. The Weavile cautiously approached Jack's feet, trying to get a better look at the cartridges. The Weavile picked on up and twisted it around, seeing nothing inside the hollow, metallic cylinder. Jack plucked a bullet from the box of ammo and showed it to Cleo, pointing at the small gray dome absent from the one she had. Cleowonderfully eyed the empty casing, amused by the logistics of the weapon even if it required such a loud racket every time it wanted to be used. It seemed clever to her, and wondered why these humans were the only ones capable of thinking and making something like this.

"Shall we check out what you hit?" asked Wilson, still obviously not happy about the presence of the Weavile. Jack nodded and secured the six-shooter.

They walked down and inspected the fake Stantler Jack shot at. Jack inspected the Stantler target he shot with the revolver using mild ammunition. Holes about the size of his pinky finger's nail made a narrow strip from the neck to the top of the right shoulder, with only one of the six holes straying a few inches to the left from the group. It was a remarkable showing of results, going almost exactly where Jack wanted. The shooter was a little giddy at seeing the pattern of bullets. Wilson approved of it.

"Not bad," he complimented, "but are you ready for the next one?"

"Yeah, may as well get it done," Jack answered as he ran his hand over the pattern of forty-five long bullets with a short-lived thumbs up.

Cleo was rather uninterested since it was a fake Stantler, and didn't think there would be much of a point trying out their firearms on something so inanimate, something so lifeless and unresponsive. But then it reminded her of the berry tree she scratched up, and how it too was inanimate. She did it for largely the same reason as the humans were doing. It was to experiment, hone skills, and even relieve stress, judging from all the cracks and tiny holes put in it over time.

Cleo realized that she had gotten herself roped up with brutal, if not cunning creatures, sort of like her and the other Sharp Claw Pokémon. And with similar, distant personalities relatable to the ones she had to interact with before breaking off from her pack.

Maybe the right thing to do was stay with them. Or at least stick around long enough to see where it would go, hopefully to more action.

In any case, the trio went back to the shooting table. Wilson cracked open the second box of ammunition with different colors, and pulled out another cartridge. It was almost identical in size, but the bullet was a robust copper color and there was a small, circular cutout on top of the bullet with four tiny slices around the bullet.

"Now this is a four-fifty-four round, designed to be fired out of that Casull," Wilson explained while twisting the bullet so Jack could get a better look, "this is what you call a round. You'll be carrying this in the gun if you go outside by yourself, and it's way hotter than the forty-five long."

"Is it that bad?"

"Well, there's a reason I don't shoot it much. But it'll save your ass out there if you're gonna take that Pokémon with you instead of me. Load it up and give it a good squeeze."

Jack tucked his lip in and loaded one of the chambers with the .454 magnum round. It slid in perfectly with a muddled cling. Jack figured he would be fine with just firing one round for now and snapped the cylinder back into place with the hilt of his palm. He loosened up his shoulders and slowly thumbed the hammer back, taking aim at the Stantler's heart. His hands clenched the black rubber grips as tight as he could, bracing himself for the incoming blast.

Jack pulled the trigger, instantly feeling the power of the hand cannon.

 _ ***BOOOOOOOEEEERRRUUUUMMG***_

Jack's arm was lifted up from the recoil, tilting the muzzling almost a full ninety degrees upwards towards the gray sea of clouds above as energy pulsed through his arm, almost ripping the gun out of his grasp. Cleo instantly whined and covered her sensitive ears from the sound of the blast. It was way worse than the six booms before, and can easily imagine what would happen if it was pointed at something made of flesh. Now Jack both knew what it was like firing it. Wilson didn't lie about it being worse to shoot than his shotgun.

The shooter sucked frigid air through his clenched teeth and held the gun in his left hand. He shook his sore right hand from the blast, somewhat regretting firing it. Merely firing it felt like punishment enough.

"Sssssttth aaaah! Fuck, man! It kicks like a Hitmonlee!" whined the startled man while trying to flex his right hand as the last sound waves died down in the distance. "No wonder you don't shoot this thing much!"

Wilson shrugged, slightly amused by his grandson's reaction to firing a "real" gun for once.

Jack walked back to the Stantler, trying to figure out where he hit the target. He aimed at his heart, but the amount of recoil he had told him it went somewhere else. Realistically, if he was to be attacked by an Ursaring, he would be firing at a much larger target, and probably at a much closer distance. To him, accuracy wouldn't be that big of an issue, as long as he could hit in a moderately weak or vital spot, the gun should work just fine. He also wondered if he really was going to carry more than one of the hot loads in the cylinder. The mild stuff was pretty good for him, but it probably wouldn't be that effective against a larger Pokémon.

" _Bah, whatever. Let's just see how accurate this one was._ "

Jack inspected the Stantler for a second time, finding a much more obvious hole in the Stantler dummy's stomach, a foot to the left of the heart. The hole itself was about the size of his pinky finger's nail again, but the rim of it was much more deep, detailed, and ruffled, showing it tear and puncture more material than the mild load.

And that wasn't taking into effect the damage it could do versus organic material or a real Stantler. Or even multiple shots in quick session.

When put into the light of self-defense, Jack suddenly gave much more respect to the hand cannon, for all that it was worth.

Wilson approached his grandson from behind, still holding the shotgun over his shoulders.

"Feel protected now?"

"I guess."

Wilson turned towards Cleo, who was starting to get fed up with the racket Jack was making. He sighed and addressed his grandson once more,

"You'll have to rely on that way more than that Pokemon if you wanna take her 'stead of me."

"To tell you the truth, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. But still, damn. Let's hope I don't actually have to use it."

Wilson was forced to accept Jack's response of wanting to take Cleo with him the next time he was going hunting. The grandfather still disapproved of the aspect of taking a Weavile as a hunting companion out in the bleak wilderness. Jack asked him what he was going to do with his shotgun since something was still wrong with it.

"I'll have it to take it back and get it looked at," Wilson explained, "I'll do it as soon as I'm done putting away the other stuff I bought."

Jack was already walking towards Cleo with the gun in its holster to pick her up and take her back inside. It prompted Wilson's attention,

"Are you _sure_ you still want to take that Pokémon with you? Do you even know what can happen out there when you're alone?"

Jack gave a half-offended response to his grandfather as he knelt down to the Weavile and cradled her in his arms, fully conscious and awake,

"You know what I'm going to say."

Wilson gave another sigh and walked back to his truck with the shotgun in tow. Jack was alone on the range with Cleo in his arms, liking the warmth of his body. She looked at him with her sweet, red eyes of a killer, still craving to get rest, but looking much livelier than before.

"Sorry about making you follow me out here. I didn't know the guns bothered you that much. And you still are a little sick. But you heal fast, huh? Let's get you inside so you can get some rest more rest and venison. Don't worry about him; we'll have some fun tomorrow when you're feeling better, alright?"

Cleo gave a happy little mewl in Jack's arms, " _Weave~!_ "

* * *

The next morning was a joyous one for both Jack and Cleo. Cleo made a speedy recovery from her food poisoning and was now able to fully function on her feet just as well as before she got sick. That meant that Jack could take her with him for hunting the common game of the region. It seemed that this past week was full of surprises for the budding outdoorsman, from trying out new, "real man" firearms with permission from his grandfather to finding and befriending a sick Weavile, much to his grandfather's chagrin. Again and again, he passive-aggressively tried to coax him into giving up the Pokémon and going with his grandfather.

Jack didn't budge one bit. He saw it as a challenge to himself and Wilson; he would largely be at his own wits with the experience and communication barrier, and Wilson would have to see how long he could endure the presence of the Sharp Claw Pokémon, or better yet, overcome his hatred for them. It was fair of him to assume that much since he was the rookie out of the three.

Cleo was the last one to wake up, catching as must rest as she wanted as Jack woke up at the first crack of dawn. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, partially forgetting the Pokémon curled in a ball and sleeping on top of him, being soothed by being in his presence. For a Pokémon with such a killer reputation, she was quite sweet. Maybe she was just playing along to stab him in the back like Wilson suggested. Or she was smart enough to know that she was in better company, and it was worth playing nice and staying by him. What he really wanted to know is how Cleo would fare at his side during the expedition compared to Wilson.

She looked quite peaceful in that ball of hers. Cleo was in such a deep slumber that she didn't mind the flickering fire going to warm the cabin against the bitter outside air. Jack almost didn't want to wake her up. Partially because he wanted to let her sleep, and partially because she wasn't fully domesticated yet. The last thing either of the humans wanted to deal with right now was stitching up Jack's hand from a reflexive slash from the Sharp Claw Pokémon being rudely awoken.

Wilson was at the table, fully clothed in his hunting uniform and about to fry up some backstraps. He fiddled with the sizzling meat as he turned towards Jack,

"Today's gonna be a big day."

Jack awkwardly nodding in agreement as his hunger rose up from smelling the always-delicious cooking venison. Cleo started to stir in Jack's lap from the scent of roasting meat.

"I still hope you know what you're doing. It's not welcoming out there, and I'm not sure if a Pokémon is your best guide. You can't even speak the same language…"

"Wilson, please don't worry about it," pleaded Jack, slipping his legs out from underneath Cleo and getting out of bed, "Let me try it a few times, at least. There's no way to know for certain unless I do this. And if it allows me to bag some good game, that means that I have the right idea, doesn't it?"

The Sharp Claw Pokémon finally woke up, feeling refreshed and healthy from additional rest. And feeling hungry, thanks to the smell of cooking meat. And also feeling quite… warm. An unpleasant, itchy warmth under her fur from the heat of the fireplace. Heat didn't agree with her for the most part, especially as Wilson chucked on another thick, long-burned log into the firepit to make the venison cook faster.

"[Why is it so hot]"? Cleo groggily complained in her native tongue. Both of the humans didn't understand exactly what she said, but knew she was talking about the fireplace and how warm the cabin was compared to the outside. The sooner she could eat a clean, filling meal and dance around outside in more comfortable temperatures to her, the better. Wilson tried to ignore the fact there was an uninvited, still probably sick Pokémon in his house after he explicitly told his grandson not to bring one in.

( _Damn thing doesn't even like the fire I made for it_.)

A few minutes passed and breakfast was served for the trio holed up in the cabin. The sky was blue and the winds were calm to their delight. Jack sat down and helped himself to a large pan of backstrap meat.

Jack had a little conversation as he munched on the cooked meat. "So… what should I bring? I'm still going with her, and there's plenty of Sawsbuck in the area, right?"

Wilson stared at his plate, answering with his mouth half-full,

"Your Encore and the Casull. Bring those since I won't be going with you today."

Jack looked a little worried and glanced at the gun cabinet. There it was sitting on top of the chest holster fitted to snuggly rest on top of his hip.

"Like I said, this area has a lot of Sawsbuck, Stantler, and the like. And that's good, since nobody ever has a qualm about shooting 'em. But it's still common to find stuff like Ursaring literally anywhere up here. And that's why one of us always needs to carry something like that." Jack exhaled and nodded in agreement. Shooting it wasn't _that_ bad, and he certainly wouldn't hesitate on pulling the trigger for self-defense. Jack at least hoped so, and that he wouldn't get locked up and unable to use it effectively.

"But just remember this, Jack: not every day is successful. Hunting is a sport of patience. The one I shot the other day doesn't happen every day, or even every season, sad to say. But it makes the one you do get in the end all that much better."

Wilson earnestly exhaled and looked up at his grandson in a much more serious tone,

"Don't make me regret this, Hotchkiss."

Jack was a little startled at hearing the outdoorsman refer to him by their family's last name. He could tell that he still genuinely cared for his safety, and did hope for the best for his success. Going out there alone is risky enough, let alone a person at his age. Jack then asked,

"Do you think there's enough to go around that I'll eventually get one?"

"Truthfully, no."

Jack rested his cheek on his knuckle, suddenly feeling foolish and discouraged from the pressure. He forgot that hunters rarely bag game every day of the season, and it's common, if not standard, to come up empty handed. He started to seriously wonder if this would work with his handicap.

Meanwhile, Jack felt a pair of mischievous, acute claws prod at his thigh. He looked down and saw Cleo staring up, hungrily peaking up from under the table and chair, expecting food like she was some common house Delcatty.

"[ _Hey, come on! I need to eat too!_ ]"

Jack cleaned off his plate and got up to go for seconds with it in his hands. Wilson looked up with arched eyebrows at seeing his grandson go for more food. To his delight, there was still a lot left in the pan.

"Boy, you must be hungry! That's fine. Eat up, but not too much so you'll start crampin'."

Jack scooped the rest of the cooked meat from the pan to his plate, loading it up with even the tiniest scraps. He turned and saw Cleo follow him to the stove, silently begging him even more now she was aware of the large plate of vittles. The young man placed the full plate onto the ground for the Weavile to enjoy. She stepped back and caught a whiff the hot, smoky vittles, sharply increasing her hunger.

"Here you go," Jack said as he handed Cleo some food.

Cleo tried a piece of the cooked, darkened meat, very interested in seeing what it tasted like. The Pokémon popped the piece of cooked meat in its mouth and chewed. It was much tougher than the raw meat, but the flavor?

Oh, _so good_. The flames drew out _every_ bit of flavor left in the juices. It tasted even better than how it smelled to her.

She readily scarfed down the rest of it, making audible, rude and gross lip smacking sounds. It was a good thing Jack ate his share before since Pokémon didn't have any table manners. Even Jack was now a little concerned about the Weavile. Wilson looked behind to see Cleo eating the rest of the vittles cooked up, and was also glad he finished his share before she did. Jack haphazardly raised his hand and tried to get the Weavile's attention.

"I think you enjoy eating a little _too_ much."

The Pokémon stopped munching and turned to Jack with a piece of Pokémon backstrap between her fangs, looking at him with her head tilted back and up with silent, wide, playful red eyes and a stained mouth. Cleo then slurped it into her mouth with her tongue, gave it a few chomps, then swallowed it in a loud *GULP* complete with a small lump quickly traveling down her throat and into her belly. He couldn't help but awkwardly chuckle, entertained at her lack of table manners. She _was_ a meat-eater after all, and her lack of table etiquette combined with her playful demeanor made her oddly appealing to the young outdoorsman.

"Well, I can't say you don't have an appetite."


	18. Chapter 18: First Times for Everything

Breakfast was finished, and Jack threw on the rest of his hunting gear. He was anxious about the day ahead of him, more so than Cleo. Wilson would not accompany him this time because Jack still insisted on bringing the Pokémon with him. That meant he had to carry more guns, and anything he would shoot and bring back would be heavier. Still, the grandson didn't want to chicken out the last second. Jack would go through with this as if it was the last thing he would do.

On went his thick outdoor clothes and his hat, leaving only the skin of his face exposed to the elements. He slapped on the chest holster, fully loaded Wilson's revolver, and went to get his Encore rifle. Jack inspected it with thoroughly and safely for any defects and loaded the six stock slots with bullets. The hunter felt pretty protected with the firepower he had to carry. Not to mention the natural-born hunting Pokémon he met and had a fuss over yesterday with Wilson.

"Well, I wish good luck for you," Wilson said as he gave a few strips of dry, tough jerky and some biscuits as field rations, "it's the least I can do."

It was to help keep him and Cleo going through the day. It would suck if Jack had to return just because his stomach begun to rumble right when he was on the verge of finding something. He started to feel like an army man, carrying guns and going on a mission to search and destroy any feasible game Pokémon he came across. This was starting to feel like what he imagined hunting would be from the get-go.

"Thanks for the food," Jack answered as he secured them in his pockets.

The young man gave an honorable nod as he double-checked the last of his gear before setting out with Cleo into the windy white lands.

And so Jack was now on his second official hunt, this time accompanied by the Sharp Claw Pokémon that quickly grew attached to him. Jack broke for the path he already took twice, partially obscured from midnight snowfall. As the outdoorsman passed the first few sets of trees retreading old ground, Jack reflected on the past twenty-four hours up here. He was entirely responsible for getting everybody roped into this situation by going out and bringing back the Weavile. His grandfather still held a grudge over Sharp Claw Pokémon in general and refused to tag with him during these hunting trips. Jack didn't have a seasoned trapper at his side that he could talk to and have his questions answered at any time; he was largely on his own. Going alone in arctic, hostile wilderness, with invisible winds blowing from behind, trying to sap his heat. It seemed like suicide.

The young man tried to spin it into being positive, gripping his Encore in frustration while stopped in the snow. He tried to reason with himself that he was the only one he could rely on at all times, that he couldn't always rely on Wilson to carry him through the woods. Jack tried to see this as a test of independence; how well he could fair without an expert guiding him, or holding his hand throughout the hunt. Now was a chance to _be_ a hunter the dreamt of instead of tagging along and just following every move Wilson made. This was an opportunity to prove himself that he had his grandfather's blood in him for being an outdoorsman and that he could live up to the daydreams he had when he first arrived of being a macho-man hotshot by braving what the wild had to offer. It was scary and risky, sure, but Jack reasoned that's what he would need to grow and be forged.

But, should things go south and he runs into trouble…what if he was wrong about doing this?

The hunter didn't want to think about it. He continued to stand still like a statue and point his eyes at the snow covering the ground, deep in reflection. Jack Hotchkiss was still young and naïve, and he was beginning to accept it as he recalled something Wilson said before, something that matched up perfectly with how Jack was acting,

" _Your fantasies of being a real man by going out there will be the death of you_."

He quaked in his boots from the cold and regret. But there was a crucial detail the hunter had forgotten. A detail nudging him around the waist from the very tip of its crimson crown trying to pull him back into reality.

"[Are you okay?]" she mewled to Jack, a rare sign of sympathy and decency towards another, for her kind. Jack looked up from his meditation and looked around, unsure where he was. He suddenly felt something plush and feathery prod at his lower body again, causing him to look down at Cleo, staring back with a concerned but somewhat impatient look on her face. He had forgotten about her.

That Sharp Claw Pokémon was the reason for all of this. Cleo was the one that moved his heart and prompted him to reach out and help another when she was stricken with food poisoning. Jack reminded Cleo of herself, now that she thought about it. What with the infighting among his peer, how he was put in stressful situations, and learning how to fend for himself out here. Although she didn't know _why_ she was following him around. Maybe because he brought her someplace new and didn't opportunistically finish her off while she was ill. Or, maybe Cleo knew that just about anything was better than going back and getting in another argument and then getting beat up with her "friends." Perhaps something else was the reason, which Cleo could sense something right and proper about the human that clicked with her, that she agreed with and didn't want to squander. If nothing else, it was a pleasant change of company.

And the Pokémon was still promised some action to feed her predatory nature of participating in hunting and getting her claws deep and dirty into other Pokémon she viewed as nothing more than fuel for her and her new accomplice's superior biological machinery designed solely to kill and reproduce. Cleo wasn't going to get any of that by standing in the snow waiting for Jack's fingers to fall off from wind-chill.

The young hunter was embarrassed at stopping in the snow when he should be moving, for neither of them found any other Pokémon to shoot yet. He knelt down and scratched Cleo behind the ear again to make up for his delay. Cleo titled her head to make it easier, loosening her up which in turn allowed the hunter to move again.

"Sorry 'bout that." he apologized and gave a piece of jerky to the Pokémon, greedily snatching it up and popping it in her mouth. It was quick dry and chewy to the Weavile, but her saliva started to draw out the flavor of the snack as she chewed. The jerky kept Cleo occupied for now, lest Jack would want to deal with some holes in his legs.

They kept on walking for a while; the armed man had forgotten that everything pretty much looks alike out here. There was nothing but white and faded gray-chocolate colors to make a crooked maze of dead trees. Especially as they came to a clearing, straying away from the dense hideout he and Wilson arrived at before. It was tough to make a note of any landmarks they passed, with the exception of a gradual, low-sloping hill that didn't feel like it was declining until they were already at the bottom of it. At least the sun's rays were hidden behind an endless patch of clouds, so they weren't snow-blinded. But everything looked _exactly the same_ to the hunter.

Wait. If everything looked the same, and if he was to stay out here for most of the daylight hours…

…how would they find their way back?

Oh, but Jack thought he knew. Jack foolishly put his free hand on his mouth and sucked in a mouthful of cold air. His concentration was slipping, and he mentally smacked himself for worrying over something so fussy. The two of them had their footsteps to retrace, no big deal. But doubt didn't fully leave the boy's mind. What if it got dark, or snowed heavily and obscured their steps before they returned?

Jack gave an uncomfortable groan at the fear of getting lost. That was the last thing he wanted to do out here with not enough provisions to last a day. The hunter needed some sort of plan, or atleast some type of insurance.

The outdoorsman stopped and turned around to look at the trail he left. He was originally going to try to mentally retrace and map the path he took. However, a few dozen feet behind him was Cleo in front of a thick tree they passed, standing alone as the trees were sparsely populated in this area leading to low, rolling hills. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was busily working on something. He didn't hear it until now, but she seemed to be scratching the tree. But why?

"Er… Cleo, what are you doing?" asked Jack as he marched back towards the Sharp Claw Pokémon occupied with the tree. She finished her work right as Jack's shadow fell over her, and the outdoorsman pestered her with questions. Cleo stepped aside to reveal a very intricate symbol carved onto the tree, consisting of a large circle almost entirely filled with lines running across it, with a few scratches outside the circle. It almost resembled some sort of historical cult's emblem, but it was done surprisingly well. Cleo kept her mouth shut as Jack tried to interpret the symbol, soon catching on.

"Oooh, you're trying to map this out and leave markers for our way back."

He forgot from one of Wilson's ramblings that Sharp Claw Pokémon love to carve into things, not only to keep their nails pristine and sharp but also to communicate. Jack couldn't decipher the strange markings she carved…but Cleo could. She was the one keeping notes, thankfully.

"Come to think of it…" mused Jacked, "you also probably have some pretty acute senses compared to mine. If it gets dark, you could probably lead me back. And you could probably even lead me to something to shoot because it's still daylight. Huh, interesting…"

Cleo nodded, feeling a bit smug about her art and more so about her naturally keen senses. She scratched her chin and looked up at the tree she carved into, noting a clearing with an exceptionally thick branch thrown in. The corners of her lips were raised in intrigue as Cleo gave an affirmative "[Stay!]" whimper and started to scale the side of the tree. She climbed to the branch and perched on it, peering through the slits from other branches and looking down the low hill with intense eyes. She didn't see anything animate or distinct against the white backdrop, so she turned to focus on another portion ahead. Jack was captivated by Cleo's ability to climb and scout out the area, something he had no clue Sharp Claw Pokémon did.

It seemed to work out perfectly. Cleo could be the eyes, ears, and maybe the nose of the duo, while Jack was the brawn with his firearms to make the actual killing extremely efficient.

Unfortunately, there wasn't anything interesting that Cleo found from the vantage point. She climbed down disappointed. Jack was the opposite and complimented her while reaching for another piece of jerky,

"Quite intelligent, aren't you?"

Cleo looked up and had a smidgen of blush on her face from the compliment, understanding just enough from her mild comprehension of the human's tongue to hear it as a good thing. She began to pick up and piece together small phrases she overheard from Jack and Wilson's lengthy conversations the night before, understanding how they spoke and what they meant. And there was plenty of room for improvement for the Pokémon up until Cleo could effectively take orders and make good, coordinated judgment. Cleo started to be very thankful for the smarts her kind was notorious for, even if she wasn't always bringing in fantastic results with every move she made.

Being complimented made her feel more _welcome_ to be at the hunter's side, something that was absent from her time in her pack. Especially when he was a reliable source of filling, tasty food instead of meager scraps.

"Well, let's keep moving. You keep carving and looking. I'll keep my gun ready."

It sounded like a plan.

* * *

The two kept hiking through the landscape, finding nothing but faded tracks that led to nowhere. Periodic stops where made for Cleo to carve a landmark into a tree and to try to pick up any peculiar scents while on the ground. Then she climbed the tree until she got to a proper altitude for reconnaissance. Jack trusted the Pokémon to lead him back with the trail of symbols through her night vision and memory for such things. It was still daring for the hunter, as they've been out here for hours and haven't found a _damn_ thing. No other Pokémon besides them out here, steadily sapping Jack's morale for the day. Not to mention that he just scarfed down the last of the provision Wilson gave him, so now they were officially out of food. And the sun already seemed to be in its decline, beginning to drop and hide beneath the horizon. There was a tinge of darkness from the past-noon hours, making Jack worried.

Cleo was more disappointed than anything. If she was still alone, she could work at a much faster pace and already picked something up. Of course back then, she was sick and had no clue what her chance of survival was if she was not found. The human did provide a reliable source of food for her back at the cottage, anyway. And she spent a lot of time with him now. Cleo didn't feel like it was right breaking off and becoming a loner after what Jack did for her.

They were now at a near-invisible slope in Arceus-knows-where, back in the woodlands. Cleo continued her carve and climb routine, which Jack kept his hopes up for in being rewarding despite costing them time and ground covered. The hunter's realization of chasing some futile was dawning on him. Today was turning out to be a total wash to both of their disgust. But still, the hunter kept moving on, passing through more trees glazed with ice and frost-caked soil as daylight started to die out.

Eventually, the hunter sat down to one of the barren trees the Weavile carved a sign into, feeling like he wasted his time. He rested his chin upon his left knuckle again and dropped his gun at his side, trying to draw more positives from this overall empty hunting trip as he listened to the distant sound of a running river. Cleo caught up to him and patiently waited in front of him, giving him some mental material to work with on what to take away from this day.

Well, he learned some things about Cleo he didn't before, like her skill in climbing trees to scout from above. That was certainly impressive to the hunter. And he was given a chance to prove himself independently; there was that as well. But why must he return empty-handed, why was there not a single soul to find out here besides the hunting duo? It just did not seem fair to the young man.

An exceptionally bitter gust of air pierced him, making him shiver in the ice. Cleo was hardly affected by it, taking it as comfortable as a warm spring breeze. He looked to his left, the direction the wind blew; behind him all day. The same direction he came from, leaving behind an indentation in the snow with every step.

Then it hit him, and he felt like an absolute _moron_ for not realizing it before:

Because he forgot to spray himself with the masking scent, the wind behind him carried his natural scent across the landscape, alerting distant and potential Pokémon in his path that something foreign and potentially dangerous was coming in that direction, forcing them to relocate out of instinct. At least, that is what he thought; it could have been another issue entirely that was hidden his lack of experience.

Jack cursed loudly out of disgust for not realizing a vital detail in the hunting process. He thought he had everything planned out perfectly, and that today he would track, shoot, and recover a good game Pokémon, only to find that he was set up for failure from the get-go. Cleo gave an oblivious "Vi?" whimper, trying to figure out why Jack was upset. Jack looked at the Pokémon with a fed-up face,

"I forgot to hide my scent with his spray, and all day the wind blew my scent all over the place, alerting Pokémon to where I was, and probably yours too. If I didn't forget, they would've thought we were any other Pokémon in the area, and not care or scurry out a mile before I arrive."

He shook his head in disgust, growling under his breath at a novice mistake, or at least the one he thought was most plausible. And he was in the middle of nowhere, freezing on the spot and daylight rapidly running out. He picked up his gun and brushed the snow off his clothes, still not happy with how it went.

Then came more of the expert's advice, surfacing from his memory to help him come to terms with today's results:

" _Often times you will come back empty-handed. But it's all about that one trip where you find, shoot, and recover a_ _Pok_ _émon. If a day turns out to be a fluke, use it as an opportunity to figure out how to make the next one better."_

Wilson was right. He shouldn't be expecting every day to be a success like he envisioned from the beginning. Hunting was a sport about patience where the one payoff comes at the one Jack finally finds and manages to bring down after who knows how many attempts. Today was simply not that day. The outdoorsman took a deep breath and looked at the sky, being somewhat at ease from its brilliant, rosy-pink and gradual gold gradient blending perfectly across the sky from now broken-up clouds, indicating that it was about to turn dark soon.

Jack ultimately accepted that today was a fluke and that he would have to take and learn something constructive from this day to aid him on the next hunt. He made a vow to make sure he'd give himself a hearty coating of the masking spray so the wind wouldn't betray his location to Pokémon with better noses than him miles away. More importantly, he now knows that what Wilson said about hunting and patience was true. The novice must learn not to get mad when expeditions only result in a lot of exercise.

" _But just remember this, Jack: not every day is successful. Hunting is a sport of patience._ "

He was going to take all of Wilson's advice about the sport itself to heart, and never get too overconfident that any day will be his big break. Tomorrow was simply another chance to make things work with Cleo, another opportunity to take a different path and see where it will take him.

Also, might be a good idea to keep the gun holstered until he needed it drawn instead of always gripping it in his hands, ready to go off at a moment's notice from aggravation.

For now, all he was concerned about was getting back to Wilson's warm cottage. The hunter holstered his Encore and fumbled around in the many pockets of his coat. A small, black flashlight was brought out and turned on to help him get back. It wasn't much, but it was better than being blind. He turned to the Sharp Claw Pokémon,

"What do you say we get going?"

Cleo gave an affirmative cry. The two of them made a dash back to where they started.

* * *

He got about two-fifths of the way back before the sun dipped under the horizon, quickly casting an umbra sky over their heads. Worst of all was that the clouds started to congregate and precipitate, concealing the moon and raining heavy flakes of ice. His old tracks were getting readily covered up, and it was getting even colder, making his teeth chatter even while running through the wild and getting his blood madly pumping. The outdoorsman started to panic, fearing he may have gotten lost. The flashlight was being waved back and forth out of uncertainty to make it harder for him to backtrack from the prints he left. He was forced to stop and calm his breathing, making him look at the black and brumal sky in vain.

Right behind him was nocturnal Pokémon trying to not giggle at the human getting lost in the dark.

"[Getting tired, huh?]" called Cleo behind him, having no problem seeing in the night with her characteristic night sight. She almost sounded amused by the human's plight of getting lost in the biting wilderness. Jack turned around, shining a light at the Weavile, making her close her eyes and turn her head away to comfortable readjust. The hunter struggled to tell where her dark body started and ended with the light, but there was a very distinctive red shine from her eyes when he pointed the flashlight at her, like a flawless ruby.

Jack suddenly got an idea. Cleo would lead on, and he would follow. If she got too ahead of herself, she'll turn around and let him catch up by following the reflection from her tapetum lucidum, the tissue in her sharp eyes responsible for those nightly, devilish reflections. It was better than fumbling around blind and alone during a snowstorm. It would be his only guiding light back to Wilson's sanctuary.

"Those eyes," quivered Jack in the numbing arctic night, "That sh-shu-shine… you can l-lead me back. You know the w-way, understand me enough t-to want to bring me back."

The nocturnal Pokémon scratched her chin before she caught on to what the hunter was talking about. Then it came to her, and she smirked at the plan. She remembered those daunting eyes other Pokémon had in the night, especially other Sneasel and Weavile. The only things anything could see where those spectral, spooky pair of eyes glowing in the night, staring and plotting. She didn't have much issue seeing in the dark, but he did.

Cleo went ahead, being a better guide now it was night. The human followed her with the light stuck on her, trying his hardest to track the elusive and dark-furred figure back to shelter. She remembered where she left the odd carvings and retraced their steps, thankfully for what the other Weavile had taught her. Every so often, she stopped again, turning towards Jack with her reflective eyes and calling to him. He could spot the ruby sheen without much hassle, guiding him closer towards Wilson's cabin. This went on for longer than Jack would've liked in any capacity, underestimating how far he traveled, and how slow the return trip was.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon was highly entertained of escorting the blind hunter through the woods while also being on the lookout for any other nocturnal, opportunistic predator. She was putting her acute senses to the best possible use for Jack's survival. After all the walking they two of them had to do, she welcomed any sort of fun, even if it was a little antagonizing to the human. If not for Cleo, Jack would be forsaken out here; left for dead.

* * *

The hunter thought the whole thing was supernatural, dreamy, even. A dream he'll wake up from when he gets to the end of this black, twisted road of ice and find out he was in the sanctuary of Wilson's cottage all along. Jack also realized how tired he was getting, beginning to get hard for him to walk through the compacted, ever-growing precipitation. But pangs of uncertainty and instinctual fear of the frozen dark remained in his gut, forcing him to continue no matter. Jack persisted through the many cries of "[This way!] [Here here!] [Follow me!]" from his Weavile companion guiding him back to safety through the signs she carved, wishing every second that it would end.

Eventually, Cleo stopped and looked ahead, catching a curious glimmer of golden-white rays up ahead. She called to the hunter with certainty that it was almost over. Jack went a few steps further and saw the glimmer enter his vision that was hiding behind a few invisible trees. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief that the trip would almost be over, that he finally got to the light at the end of the wide-open tunnel.

"Fucking finally!" Jack exasperated as he and Cleo made the last few dashes towards the open landscape, following the growing light to the cottage. Soon there was enough light that Jack could see where he was going with Cleo's guidance. He found himself in the open clearing surrounding the cabin, where all that was left was a straight line to Wilson's warm sanctuary. Jack spat and made a full on sprint for the last part of the return trip, panting heavily at the door, feeling miserably chilled to the bone.

Jack entered the cabin, holding the door open just long enough to let in the giggling Weavile, and slamming it shut. There stood Wilson in his hunting gear by his bed, almost ready to go out and look for Jack. He stared at his grandson and the Pokémon, heavily rimed. Both looked like they shredded some old couch cushions while covered in glue for a comedy sketch.

"Jack!" cried Wilson in relief, "I was worried about you! I was just about to go out and try to find you. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, of course I am," murmured Jack through chattering teeth. "I j-just came back after running through a blizzard at night."

Wilson's face grew sour at his grandson and the Weavile that he brought with him.

"You know, if you didn't bring that Pokémon with you instead of me, we'd probably find something out there and have returned much sooner. But no, you gotta go out there with a Weavile of all things."

Jack menacing glared at Wilson.

"Yeah? You just said earlier that not every trip is successful. That it's a sport of patience. Sometimes you get lucky and shoot something, other times you don't. It sure as shit would **not** have made a difference if you went with me today! We still would've found nothing, and probably still had to run through a blizzard!"

"Boy, don't you-"

"Next time tell me to come back sooner before the sun sets, and I have to follow a Pokémon back home. Tomorrow's another day. At least she grew up in this environment, and knows her way around by instinct and how to lead me back to where we started from, even if the two of you don't like each other."

The rest Wilson's pleas were ignored by the exhausted young man as he saw the Weavile give him a small, cocky, "I told you so." smile like she was responsible for something. And she was looking a little tired, too. The older hunter didn't bother pursuing any more questions about his grandson and the Pokémon he brought with him.

Maybe they were more useful than Wilson thought.


	19. Chapter 19: Getting the Hang of Hunting

Jack Hotchkiss was out of the action for several days, and with some good reasons. His first official journey with Cleo resulted in him empty handed. Not only that, he had to run through a snowstorm at night just to get back home with Wilson. Cleo guided him back with her better night vision and memory of the carvings she made as landmarks, getting the shivering hunting home safe and sound. And it left him tired and sore. He didn't even think about going out there and trying his luck again, for it was his turn to get some rest after being saved. All he could do now was sit in bed most of the day and take it easy.

Jack spent most of the time holed up in the cabin. While recovering, he convinced Wilson to continue trying, waiting out the snowstorm that raged on from the night before. The trapper caved in and gave him a second chance when he was ready, against his gut feelings about partnering with a Weavile. The young man still had fiery determination in his eyes that it _will_ work given enough time, as was with hunting normally. Jack was willing to play this game of patience more than ever, having gotten a taste of handling some of Wilson's big guns and being out re-engaging in one of humanity's oldest practices.

But soon enough the aspiring hunter would be out of the sanctuary of the cabin to try his luck with another day, once he wasn't so tired and sore.

Hopefully, this time will be lucky.

A few days passed and the weather was calm. A frail wind raced through the land with large clouds widely spaced apart taking turns to cover up the sun and its blue sky. It was welcoming outside for Jack, who no longer felt sore and was raring to have another go. He sat in his sleeping wear at the table, eating another big meal and feeling somewhat chilled. Cleo was at his feet looking him, silently begging for food with a cute, innocent expression as usual.

"I think I'm ready for another go."

Wilson looked at him, harshly chewing his food.

"Are you sure you're fully healed? Last time you went out there, you almost got lost in a snowstorm. And that… thing o' yours."

"And I got back because Cleo knew where to go," explained Jack, "If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have come back. You have to hand her that, she's pretty smart. You could've gone with me still and I would've avoided the snowstorm, but still."

"Yeah, they're smart all right…" grumbled Wilson with another mouthful of food. "Smart enough to ruin everything."

Jack gave the scraps to Cleo and started to gear up for today's expedition. The first thing he did was take some of Wilson's scent killing spray and douse himself with it to eliminate any chance of potential game smelling a human in the area. With the spray, he would smell like any other game Pokémon that Wilson hunted and blend in perfectly.

Then Jack turned towards Cleo, still holding the canister. He approached her and knelt down to spray the Weavile as well. Cleo coughed from getting sprayed by the scent masker, hating the musty odor of it and trying to squirm away. The hunter persisted and waved the can up and down, making sure no spot on the Weavile was left alone. The amount Jack used made Wilson raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

"That's quite a lot. I hope you know what you're doing."

"Better more than less like last time," said Jack as he covered as much of her body with it as possible, "if both of us use this, we might attract one instead of having to chase one." Cleo hated the spray on her body. It masked her scent and made her smell like a dirty Deerling or other Pokémon she despised. Worse of all was that the Sharp Claw Pokémon possessed a stronger nose than Jack, so it smelt even worse to her. She was not happy about this at all.

When he was certain he added enough, he put the can aside to the Weavile's relief. Jack proceeded to throw on his hunting attire for the day. He had higher hopes for today since it didn't seem likely to snowstorm anytime soon. Additionally, he got a better feel for the environment and was better suited this time around.

"You sure you wanna head out there with that thing again?" Wilson asked as Jack finished preparing to head outside. His grandson gave a fed-up glare at him.

"Take a wild guess."

Boots strapped, gloves on, guns secured. He was ready for a second adventure.

Jack took some more provisions out with him to help make it a bit more bearable for him and Cleo, who was also eager to go out and score something good. Sure, she could've abandoned him a while ago and continue by herself, but she only had to do a fraction of the work involved to keep her sheltered and well fed. The tradeoff was that she also got a fraction of the entertainment, and was desperately craving some predatory fun.

"Well, wish me luck again," said Jack as he tripled checked his firearms. He pulled the collar of his coat away and sniffed downward, getting a strong musky whiff of his new odor, making him practically invisible to the Pokémon outside. Wilson sat at the table reaching for the last bit of whiskey he stowed away. He poured a shot, held it up, nodded, and drank it in a single gulp.

"Come on Cleo, let's get moving."

Cleo hoped she would get her claws painted red today in exchange for getting showered in that ugly spray.

"[Yeah, yeah.]"

* * *

The duo went into the woods and went back to the same path as before to start out. They took a slight deviation a few minutes later, trying to cover new ground. Jack kept his Encore holstered this time around, much like Wilson's magnum. His hands were free to inspect or pick up things if necessary, and it gave him a proper peace of mind of not carrying a loading gun in his hands all the time. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was forced to smell like some other, inferior prey Pokémon for who knows how long so they wouldn't get sniffed out. Cleo begrudgingly repeated her job last time of carving landmarks and scaling trees to find anything interesting from a higher vantage point. The two of them also move quicker than before to cover even more ground, for there was no point in staying in one spot and admire the scenery. No, it was better to be on the move when possible.

To pass the time, Jack tried to make idle conversation with the Weavile, lowering his voice in the case of invisible, pesky ears from other Pokémon,

"So, any of this seem familiar? Eh, who am I kidding, it all looks the same huh? It's just nice getting out of that cabin again. We'll show Wilson that we were right all along. I guess getting cranky is what happens when you become a hermit surrounded by guns, severed heads, meats, and booze. Though I can't blame him for it. I know this will work out if we have a little patience."

Cleo gave indirect responses, letting him know she was listening a little to keep him going. The Sharp Claw Pokémon still didn't like the fact she was sprayed with some gross, musky chemical all over her body.

"Well, when we find one, I'm gonna take it back before doing any of the gross work, like dressing it. Hell, maybe we'll get to use some of its guts in a recipe or something. That'll be a nice treat for everybody, especially you."

"[Uh-huh, yeah yeah, let's not get ahead of ourselves.]"

Jack could easily tell that Cleo was acting arrogant, especially from being coated with the scent masker. He wondered if she would break off and flee in annoyance or pursuit of action.

This continued for quite a while, while the sun still hung high in the sky. Seconds went by and turned into minutes speeding past with chitchat, making it go by quicker than it seemed. All of a sudden, Cleo cried out and darted ahead of Jack, having picked up something he didn't. She crouched down and put her face to the snow, looking and sniffing intently. Jack caught up to her to investigate.

They were hooved tracks, looking a little like a large beak on its side in the snow. The tracks seemed to come from the left of Cleo's position and trail further to the right, pulling up just a little bit. Right in front of the tracks was a girthy tree with a foot-long strip of bark completely scratched off the side. A few thinner streaks of shaved bark adorned the sides of the big mark, and there were tree bark shavings scattered all over the ground. From Cleo's enthusiasm, a Stantler or Sawsbuck walked by recently and made its mark. That meant it probably wasn't that far away from where they were!

"Fresh marks," said Jack quietly to Cleo, "looks like we know where we're going now."

Jack motioned to Cleo to take the lead since she was shorter and closer to the ground, being able to follow the tracks more precisely than Jack could. She chuckled and picked up the pace again, walking alongside the tracks, expecting them to lead them to the Pokémon that made them. The hunter stopped talking and became much more focused. He drew the Encore from his holster, ready to run into any Pokémon.

It was exciting for Jack and Cleo both. The tracks were the first sign of activity from other Pokémon they ran across in days. Being able to actively stalk a Pokémon was a much-needed activity by both of them. And they seemed fresh, which boosted their chances of success. The tracks continued in a straight line, occasionally twisting and bending around trees or for no reason in the otherwise clear ground. Or sometimes the line of tracks turned into small holes piling up from the Pokémon pausing and looking for food underneath the blanket of snow, even dragging its feet a little while doing so. Both were dead set on finding the Pokémon.

Cleo stopped and quickly scaled a nearby tree, trying to see if she can locate it from above. The eager Weavile climbed higher than she usually died, feeling confident that the Pokémon they are stalking will turn up. Both hands were embedded in the stiff, thick wood as Cleo scanned the horizon. There, she saw a single, light brown object with a tinge of yellow above it face-down in the snow. It was the Stantler they were stalking, no doubt about it. It momentarily stopped to raise its head and look to its left, thinking there was danger over there. When nothing happened, the Stantler continued to try to graze on the grass hidden underneath its feet, totally oblivious to where the real danger was. Cleo scampered down the tree, eager to share the new information.

Back on ground level, she ran up to Jack and pointed at the direction she saw the brown figure. She was almost ready to sprint off and claim it for herself, leaving behind the human now that he was no longer useful in her eyes. The Pokémon's body language and enthusiasm plainly conveyed her impatience and arrogance. Her uppity behavior could throw away this hunt if he didn't act fast and calm her down. But she waited this long for action; she should hang on a little more just to be safe.

The hunter squatted down and put on hand on her shoulder to calm her a little. Then he showed his Encore to the Weavile, twisting it around to show the bullets held in the stock band. The Sharp Claw Pokémon eyed the rifle, thinking it was silly bringing that gun when he had her at his disposal. What could it be with its noise and weight?

But then Cleo remembered the stories spoken to her about obliterating anything in its path in an instant. And there were some pretty big and clean holes punched into the fake Pokémon the human shot with other firearms, capable of making any tundra predator green with envy from the destructive potential from one of them. Those targets were not made of flesh and blood and thus did not have much appeal to the predatory Pokémon. The Stantler both of them stalked, on the other hand…

"Let me handle things," Jack said while standing up. Cleo played along and gave a reluctant, obedient cry. She did her part in figuring out where the Stantler was, and now it was Jack's turn to make a contribution. Cleo pointed at the direction where the Stantler was once more and Jack kept the muzzle pointed in front of him. He went into a somewhat hunched-over crouch and quickly shuffled through the frosty wilderness.

Just a few minutes later, the outdoorsman and his companion came to a small clearing in the middle of the thick woodlands, and in front of them was the Stantler they stalked. A few paces to their right were the footprints leading up to the Stantler, leading them directly to it. The hunting duo had struck natural gold, taking a second to appreciate the stalked Pokémon's features.

It had a handsome brown-gray pelt with two slightly curved antlers growing out of its head, measuring no more than Jack's thumb in size. A tiny, darkened orb was crowned on top of the stubby antlers. All of the Stantler's features indicated that it was a young one experiencing perhaps his second winter. It was leisurely grazing on frozen grass, minding its own business and blissfully ignorant of impending doom. It was about twenty yards from where Jack was, far enough that accuracy problems can take effect for a shooter like him. The hunter was breathless as he eyed the Big Horn Pokémon from this distance. Cleo was peering around from a nearby tree, impatiently watching from around a woody corner.

Suddenly, a mild gust came from behind the hunting duo, carrying their scents with them. Jack's heart skipped a beat and fixed his eyes on the Stantler, forcing him to prop himself against a tree to conceal himself. Jack feared that his cover was completely blown by the wind carrying his foreign scent to the Stantler in spite of spraying himself. The Big Horn Pokémon raised its head again and sniffed the air curiously, turning around from where the wind blew. To the Stantler, he smelled what he thought was a Sawsbuck behind him.

Curiously, the Stantler took a few steps behind and scanned the landscape to see if he was alone. The Big Horn Pokémon gave another whiff to the frigid air, hardly smelling anything at all now. Everything seemed inconspicuous, but something was telling him to move on, just in case. It wasn't like he was going to settle down and make this area his permanent home anyway. Although he could stay just a little bit longer since the grass he could dig up was rather tasty here. There was no immediate danger, so why rush things?

The Stantler turned its back towards the hunting pair once more, returning to the grazing spot it made. Jack propped himself against a tree, holding his breath and listening intently while his gun was braced against his chest; the muzzle was resting near his shoulder and slanting downward across his chest so it wouldn't stick out the side. He closed his eyes to help him focus better, and heard a distant, crisp crunch coming from the other side of the tree. Judging from the distance and volume from the crunch, the Stantler was walking away from them slowly. The young man boldly peered from the tree and saw the Big Horn Pokémon slowly walking away from them, thinking little of it. The scent hider seemed to have worked to the hunters' delight.

But the hunters was running out of time. Jack aimed his Encore at the Stantler and zeroed his scope, capable of shooting it right now. The problem was he was directly behind it, putting him at an undesirable angle. The best he could do was to go for a headshot from this position, but he would probably miss and scare it off. Not to mention, he wanted a trophy for himself to commemorate his first successful hunt. Even if he did shoot it in the head, it would result in a wasted trophy. Jack had to get a better angle.

Quickly, the hunter circled to the right of the Stantler, stomping through the snow recklessly. He was going to position himself to aim at the body from the side, a much larger target than its head. From there, he could go for a vital organ shot like Wilson taught him how. Jack was not going to let this opportunity slide, and see what wrath Wilson could bring upon finding out that they weren't bringing in results. The moment Jack was perfectly perpendicular to the Stantler's broadside, the outdoorsman cocked his gun and took aim at the Pokémon's heart. Frigid, frosty air was sucked in and held on tight before Jack made a call to the oblivious Big Horn Pokémon.

" **Mbreh!** "

It caught the Pokémon's attention and stopped it from trotting off further into the white woodlands. The Stantler turned to face the sound, having only a second to process what was going on. The Pokémon locked eyes with the tall, foreign figure, not fully understanding what it was or what do. Jack lined up his scope on top of the Stantler's heart and gave the trigger a firm squeeze.

* **BAAAAANG** *

The gunshot rippled through the frozen atmosphere, instantly striking the Big Horn Pokémon where it hurt most. Every neuron in its body instantly switched to flight, and the Stantler immediately sprinted off in sheer fear and pain much faster and farther than the hunter thought. By the time the outdoorsman took his eye away from the scope, the Stantler had already put about a hundred in front of him and was starting to tumble. Cleo witnessed it all from the sidelines, finally getting her bloodlust satiated from knowing the death of yet another Pokémon she deemed inferior would soon arrive. Jack stood in place like a statue, gripping his rifle and staring at the spot the Stantler once was.

* * *

The young man took a moment to take it all in. He finally managed to shoot a Pokémon out in a true, fierce hunting environment. The young man finally got his first official game Pokémon. A young Stantler whose antlers were just beginning to grow and take shape, but his first real hunting kill nonetheless. Not simply shooting, but hunting as intended. Through perseverance and tracking in nature.

At first, he couldn't believe it, making quiet laughs in disbelief.

" _Oh..ohoho…_ "

But then it sunk in, making the young man brim with prideful self-recognition of being a hunter; being a real man in his eyes.

" _Hohoheheheaaaah, haa!_ "

Cleo ran forward as there was no reason for her to remain hidden now.

"I did it! I finally did it! You don't know how happy I am! My first hunting kill, and I did it! Oh, you don't know how happy I feel!"

Jack holstered his gun, crouched down, and spreading his arms to beckon Cleo to come closer. She figured she might as well come closer and get some more of his positive energy for shooting a Pokémon. Cleo commended him with several complimentary "Weave! [Nice!]" cries and went closer to the human. His arms quickly folded in and wrapped around her, hugging Cleo for helping him out. Jack's chin and jawline rubbed against the top of Cleo's head, causing him to pull her even tighter from her luxurious fur brushing against his cold and exposed skin. The huntress blushed a little in his arms, feeling her body readily take in some of the bountiful body heat coming from the big human. She felt comfortable and happy in Jack's arms, having never been hugged like this before. It was strange and unheard of to her, but… she genuinely enjoyed being embraced in Jack's arms.

Jack loosened up a little and stared down at the dark purple Pokémon in his grasp. Cleo gave a few tender licks on Jack's face, showing that she was as mirthful as he was. Jack laughed at getting his face licked by Cleo and stood back up. The huntress's eyes drooped and frowned a little at being pulled away. Maybe Jack would do it again later.

"Now now, it's not over yet," said Jack as he walked towards the small splotch of freezing blood left behind by the Stantler. "We still have a Stantler to recover. I hoped that he would drop instantly, but oh well. Quite a lot of blood, must've hit him in the heart, hmm. Shouldn't be hard to track down. He couldn't have gotten that far, I hope."

Jack faced the narrow, scattered trail of blood accompanying the fresh set of tracks made by the Stantler sprinting desperately away. He called towards the admiring Weavile to get a move on and follow the wounded Stantler through the blood trail. The scent of fresh blood warmed her up and gave her a taste of that predatory, murderous high she craved. Both hunters went off to find the Stantler.

Because he was finally successful in finding and shoot a Stantler, Jack _liked_ being outside for hours in sub-zero weather, carrying guns and tracking down good game. Maybe it was him finally getting used to the wild winter woodlands that his grandfather spent so many years in. Or, maybe Jack was just relishing in the payoff of all his patience. The young man agreed with his mentor that the Ratatta he shot as a hired gun for his friend shouldn't be counted for hunting something, as Wilson explained the difference between hunting and shooting. This was hunting, no doubt about it, one of humanity's oldest practices. Jack thought it was _thrilling_. And all he had to do now was reclaim his rightful kill.

But Cleo was a different case. The Weavile started to view Jack, and overall feel a little… different. Her breathing picked up a little more while her attitude was more clingy and playful. She felt warmer on the inside, especially between her legs, where it was the warmest. It went from being pleasantly warm to more of an insatiable itch, and every so often when Jack wasn't looking, she would try to lightly scratch that sensitive itch in between her legs.

Cleo was entering the first stages of estrus; slowly being overtaken by hormones pressuring her to seek out a male to mate and reproduce with. Few other thoughts were popping up in her mind barring killing and consumption of other Pokémon, or satisfying her newfound, mature needs. The Pokémon hardly thought about such things when she was a Sneasel, but now she was a Weavile and getting wrapped up in heating hormones. She seriously contemplated running off after the kill to find a potential Pokémon mate to get together with. However, that meant she would be leaving the human alone, possibly forgetting all about him with her mate. And this was assuming that she could find one after going back to living a lonely life.

Although… she could stay around and project those fantasies onto the human that helped her out. What with his size, capable of making healthy offspring, and his weapon that could kill just about anything instantly on a whim…

The Weavile pushed those thoughts aside and took a whiff near the freshly spilled marking of blood on the snow, reminding her that there was still prey to recover.

"[ _Maybe later…_ ]"


	20. Chapter 20: A Rousing Success

Tracking the Stantler was trivial due to the obvious trails it left in the snow. The two hunters followed the dragging prints and frozen trickle of blood for only a minute more, knowing that the Stantler could not have gotten that far from them. Jack's stomach was fluttering in anticipation. Cleo was too impatient to following alongside Jack and darted off ahead, eager to claim the Stantler for herself. Jack saw it as a race and started to sprint through the high snow. Running in the dead of winter was much more stressful for the human than the Sharp Claw Pokémon, effortlessly putting a good dozen feet in front of him at all times. Fortunately, he didn't need to sprint much more as the tracks deepened and there was more blood on the ground.

There sat the Stantler as still as a stone from getting shot in the heart and burning every ounce of its youthful energy to try and escape death. A large red splotch came from his right shoulder blade, and a tiny trickle dripped from its mouth, pooling and freezing on the ground it would eternally rest on if left undisturbed. No twitches, spasms, or movement of any sort came from the body. Its eyes were left completely open with half its face covered in powdery snow. From the looks of things, the Stantler didn't struggle when it finally collapsed and bled out in its last moments. It seemed to have accepted its fate peacefully.

Cleo beat Jack by a long shot, celebrating her victory by perversely drinking from the wound channel on its side and lapping up some of its rapidly cooling blood. Truth be told, she was envious at how effortlessly he killed the Big Horn Pokémon. Just point vaguely at it, apply a bit of pressure with her finger, a loud bang and presto! If humans could make things dead as simple as that, no wonder everything seemed to be afraid of bringing them up. The only thing better to her was if it was dropped on the spot, but hey, giving her a bit of chase was fine by her! The Sharp Claw Pokémon helped herself to the open wound from the Stantler, merrily drinking its blood. Forget about what she was feeling before; this was the life for her! All the fun and nutrition from a carnivorous diet while hardly exerting anything to get it!

The budding hunter caught up, panting lightly from the sudden exertion. He saw Cleo on her knees drinking from the gunshot wound he inflicted on the Stantler, grossed out. The human cringed at his companion crassly slating her thirst from the bloody wound.

( _I know you're carnivorous, but come on! Show some respect!_ )

"Cleo!" Jack called to the Sharp Claw Pokémon, embarrassingly turning around with a red-shaded mouth. "Come on, show some respect!

She soon grew amused at the hunter's frustration and absurdly stepped aside, acting smug and feeling that familiar warm sensation under her fur. She stared at him while exaggeratedly licking her stained claws, trying to act playful and making light of the Stantler's death. Jack sighed at her disturbing behavior, seeing death as a plaything for her, and wondering if she'll take it a step too far. He didn't like the fact she was getting uppity, even probably questioning and judging the young hunter silently and considering if he was worth her time following when she could probably get better results alone. Now that Cleo was already starting to help herself the body that Jack was supposed to carry back for him and Wilson to eat, things got even more challenging. Cleo still had the obedience to follow his orders and step aside, for now.

( _Talk about morbid._ )

Jack knelt beside the dead Stantler, soberly examining the body in great detail and wanting to pay it respects.

It had a robust fur coat up close, its colors resembling well-finished walnut and a cream-colored underbelly. A coat tarnished by a fast cooling, rapdily darkening crimson tide of its life force leaking from where its heart once was. Half its face was face down in the snow, spraying the other half with light, fluffy snowflakes from the impact. The antlers were only just beginning to sprout and form. It was the main take away that this one was young; no doubt that this was one of its first winters to experience. A gloved thumb ran over the small set of antlers, pressing down on the peaks to feel how sharp and stiff they were.

Jack couldn't help but feel a little remorse for the Pokémon as he loomed over its cold, still figure. Perhaps in another life, he would've saved it for another year's hunt. Given another decade, the human and the stag would have both developed into proud, mature participants of a much more refined pastime. Both would have grown older, wiser, and developed a greater understanding and respect for the world around them. And from such experience and outlook only time could grant, both would've bestowed each other a much more satisfying hunt. A much more honorable game of hunters and stags for both of them to engage in since the beginning of humanity.

The young hunter closed his eyes and gave a courteous moment of silence for the Stantler, gently wiping the snow off its face, shutting its lifeless eyes, and thanking it for bringing him good game and the recognition that comes with it.

" _Thank you._ "

* * *

The Sharp Claw Pokémon was torn between feeding her hunger or feeding her emerging desires, opting for the former. The Weavile thought that Jack was being silly and wasting his time showing respect for the Stantler. To her, she saw the Stantler and similar Pokémon as nothing more than inferior, overpopulated piles of meat on legs, just waiting for a Sneasel or Weavile to chase it down and rip it apart into bite-sized chunks. Why bother kneeling and giving it a moment of silence? A dead body won't give you respect, she thought. A meal doesn't talk back and compliment you for choosing to sit down and eat it. And there laid one, going to waste with each passing second. The only good Stantler was a dead Stantler to her warped, dark mind.

Cleo rudely approached the fallen Big Horn Pokémon to help herself to the spoils of a good hunt. Jack quickly got up and carefully held her back with his left arm, trying to shove her away from the body and trying to avoid making her lash out from anger. The huntress whined from being pushed back by the bigger hunter multiple times.

"[Come on! Just let me eat it!]"

Eventually, she pulled away and crossed her arms, pouting in disgust. Her attitude was finally getting on his nerves. He scolded Cleo on her conduct as he stood in front of the Big Horn Pokémon's cream-colored belly and firmly pointing at the Sharp Claw Pokémon,

"Remember the one who killed it and got you to a better place."

Cleo conceded and barely held back pressing the issue further. If there was a bad thing Jack had to say about his Pokémon partner, is that she wasn't very patient and sometimes acted very disrespectful. Not to mention morbid from outright drinking blood. He just hoped that she would be disciplined down the line and no longer act like this. At least he could sympathize with Wilson a little bit now, seeing how having to deal with Sharp Claw Pokémon might be a headache.

Jack crouched down and firmly grasped the forelegs in his right hand while grasping the hind legs with his left. He sucked frigid air through his teeth and pulled straight up, lifting the Stantler body over his head. It was much lighter than he expected and managed to drape its front half right behind his neck. With a little more effort, the young Stantler was completely slung over his shoulders and held in place with both of Jack's hands.

"There we go!" said Jack as he adjusted the Stantler's belly to rest on the back of his neck to evenly distribute the weight. Cleo backed up and giggled at Jack carrying the carcass. She may not have been able to feed right after the Stantler died and was found, but the entertainment from seeing the human fireman's carry a Stantler made up for it. The hunter shook his head and was ready to return.

"Well, why don't you lead the way again? Earn that appetite," asked Jack, trying to not drop the Stantler. Cleo chuckled again and went in front of Jack, skipping across the snow merrily. She accidentally outran Jack several times on the return trip, only stopping after he called to her to slow down. Cleo was too amused at the thought of a dozen other Weavile working together to carry the Stantler back to their home. And here it was done entirely by Jack! Cleo blushed at seeing him carry around the body, the gun and its ammo, and other weighted things through numbingly cold weather all by himself. The Stantler was lighter than either of them thought, especially to Cleo, who never had to carry a heavy load before. Cleo never had to haul anything heavy back home herself, but she was still intrigued by how much he could carry.

Still, that strong body of his and his proficiency with his gun giving a short, effective, bloody chase delighted her. And all for a fraction of the work she would've had to put in if she was alone.

Still, it wasn't preciously a walk in the park for the outdoorsman, having to carry a dead Pokémon on his shoulders while having a Weavile act sassy around him.

Off in the distance, Wilson was doing some more target practice on the Pokémon targets set up on the property with one of his pistols. It hadn't been that long since Jack and the Weavile ran off into the wilderness to try hunting again. Wilson assumed that they would be okay, even if he was kicking himself a little for not having the backbone to kick the Weavile out for good. Thinking about the Sharp Claw Pokémon only made him think about almost shooting Jack in a whiskey-fueled rage over it, and it troubled him greatly. He managed to put up with the Pokémon's presence this long, but being around it forced those nasty thoughts to surface. Those thoughts were soon to be quelled through stress-relieving shooting.

" _Dammit Jack_ ," Wilson groaned while tightly gripping his gun, angrily squeezing the trigger for another round. And again, and again, repeatedly on a fake Sawsbuck. The gunshots roared across the isolated, icy lands, easily falling upon the ears of every being in a mile radius.

Not too far from the firing range was the duo returning on a job well done. Jack was getting fatigued while Cleo was in the front, looking over her shoulder and seeing her partner having to carry all of the burdens. She liked being in control of these situations and didn't mind seeing that Stantler slumped over his shoulders. To her, it looked kind of cute seeing it being hauled solo, the hunter following every move she made, and stopping when she did to idly look around or swing her hips around. Jack rolled his eyes at her behavior.

" _Yeah, I know you have a rump. What's gotten into you?_ "

However, she picked up odd, short-lived sounds up ahead and snapped her neck forward. This time she stopped for a good reason, keeping an eye out for more of those sounds. Jack stopped yet again and heard them as well. Quiet _"POP. POP. POP."_ came from ahead.

They were gunshots. There was only one other person that could be making them.

Jack's face beamed with glee at knowing he didn't have to carry it for much longer. He took a deep breath and started to sprint through the snow, covering the last stretch of land he had to cross before he could gut the Stantler. The boy zoomed past Cleo, a little surprised by the human's sudden burst of energy.

"[Hey, hold up!]" wailed the Sharp Claw Pokémon. She started to sprint as well, soon catching up to Jack, lightly huffing as he was running ahead.

"[You said I could lead you around!]"

The outdoorsman ignored Cleo's comments to conserve his breath as he ran towards the sound, knowing that it wouldn't be farther now. Soon he was forced to come to a power walk for the last section, heavily huffing from being out of breath and quickly growing tired. Cleo looked hardly tired. She smirked at him, silently teasing him for being out of breath so soon. Jack spat in disgust and tried to hurry to cross the homestretch and catch some rest in a warm building. The gunshots grew louder as the hunter was ready to put the body down and catch his breath from walking around in such a bleak environment with lots of equipment bogging him down for hours.

The burdened young man could see the vague details of Wilson's cabin against a thinning net of trees. Just as the cabin came into view, the gunshots had stopped. The shooting grandfather got up to check out where his bullets went as he saw something in the corner of his right eye. Jack mustered up what little reserve energy he got from taking it slow again and made a full-on sprint to the cabin. Cleo raced alongside him, easily beating him again and leaving him in the dust with a childish grin. Jack still ran and finally broke off from the trees, coming into plain sight onto Wilson's property. The grandfather recognized the two, but focused more on Jack. He appeared to be carrying something over his back, and he looked exhausted. Wilson put down his pistol and shuffled towards his grandson, eager to see how well he did.

The grandson's face was flushed with a red, exhausted hue. His breathing was strained, and he reverted to a slow walk once he was halfway from the open property to the tree lines. Wilson got closer and identified the Pokémon on Jack's back as a Stantler. It was young, but looked hearty, healthy, and bloody, from the red streaks coming from its heart. Wilson's grandson had finally shot and recovered a Pokémon he hunted.

"Jack!" called Wilson with a complimenting smile on his face, "well done! You finally did it, you've made your first successful hunt! And it's intact…"

"Uh-huh," deadpanned the grandson while continued to march around the back of the cabin, "Carrying this thing isn't that easy when it's for a few miles in the ice."

Cleo had her knuckles on her hips, glossing over at Jack and ignoring the veteran outdoorsman. Wilson looked at her silently and admitted she probably contributed to Jack's success as a hunter today despite her sassy demeanor. The grandfather turned around and marched with his grandson, kindly accompanying him to the property's processing station. When they arrived, Jack clumsily dropped the Stantler onto the snow and stretched, feeling immediate relief at not having to carry it on his shoulders anymore. Wilson admired the young Stantler, seeing it as an excellent opener for Jack's hunting career. Jack heaved and heaved, continuing to loosen up after his journey.

"You look tired; you should rest up inside. Eat something and relax. I can get this started for you."

"Yeah, sounds good."

Cleo had followed the two men around back. She admired the stale, frozen blood stains all around the station, but set her sights on Jack and started to swing her hips around more. The huntress was still high on her playful attitude and getting his attention, tilting her head and cutely examining the two men with the Stantler. Wilson turned towards the Pokémon again, getting flashbacks to the Stantler he had to struggle with and immediately dealing with the Weavile pack. He groaned in the back of his throat as Jack spoke to him once more.

"Yep, she's pretty helpful. She led me to it from the tracks and tree scratches I would've passed over otherwise. 'Course, she thinks she took all the credit. Probably because we finally did something."

Wilson rolled his eyes and looked at the Stantler at his feet. There wouldn't be as much meat as a full-grown, rutting Stantler he processed before, but it would be very tender and flavorful. On top of it all, its head was fully intact so it could make a remarkable trophy for Jack once it was taken to the taxidermist.

"You can string it up and I'll deal with it later," Jack said again, "I need a break."

"Just take her inside with you, alright?"

Jack walked over to Cleo and managed to scoop her into his arms, taking her with him inside the cabin. Cleo didn't put up much of a fuss being cradled in his arms again. She stared back with her tongue lightly exposed for the short walk inside the cabin while gripping his wrists with her claws. The hunter let off a soft, uncertain moan from the pain and while his eyes shifted away in sarcasm. It was good to be back at the warm cabin, at least. Now he could rest a little bit before processing the Stantler outside. And maybe then he can figure out why Cleo was acting so uppity.

About half an hour passed and the sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon, quickly ushering in a frosty winter night. Jack recuperated by warming up at the fire and making a meal out of some venison steaks from a previous Pokémon. It tasted just as delicious as all the other meats he sampled with Wilson. Soon he would throw on his heavy clothes and start carving up the Stantler he and his partner managed to hunt down. Cleo had her fair share with a large hunk of tender venison given to her, instantly being gobbled down by the predator, not minding any of her table manners. She looked up at Jack, eager to head out and watch him butcher the Stantler and add to the cabin's food supply, hungry for more scenes of blood and flesh parting. The novice hunter sighed at his companion's attitude hardly changing since they returned to Wilson's property.

"You sure are acting strange," spoke Jack as he got up and started to gear up again, "were you that bored waiting for this day?"

She turned her back to Jack and scratched behind her right ear feather, looking over her shoulder and winking with a slight rocking of her hips. It forced a humorous smile on his face.

"You really like attention, don't you?" laughed Jack as he threw on the rest of his gear.

Cleo then turned around and lightly panted with partially closed eyes with her claws on her waist. Jack didn't know what to make of it and quickly suited on to go outside and prepare the Stantler. The Sharp Claw Pokémon followed behind with her head pointed up towards the human more instead of looking straight ahead. All the while, she was panting lightly and pressed her hands against her abdomen more in admiration.

Outside in the chilly night was Wilson that prepared the offal buckets and already skinned the Stantler. By the cabin's wall was a flood light shining right on the Big Horn Pokémon, giving enough illumination to see what was going on. Jack announced himself as he saw the raw, skinned Stantler ready to be carved up and processed. Upon closer inspection, he realized its crotch was cut into, and the head was missing!

"'Bout time you came back out," Wilson said, "but I got it started for you. The gross stuff, at least."

He raised the clean-cut head of the Stantler by the short antlers.

"I'll take this to the taxidermist and get a nice trophy for you. You remember how to dress the carcass, don't you?"

Jack nodded.

"Good. Just remember to go slow and cut close to the bone, so you get the most out of it. I know a guy who works long hours for this stuff, so I'll be back in a few hours. And don't worry iff'ya screw up a lot, it's your first time."

Wilson started to loop around the cabin to bring the Big Horn Pokémon to his truck to be made into a trophy. He turned around and gave the last word to his grandson left to gut the Stantler.

"And it tastes better when you do it yourself."

Jack chuckled again and waved Wilson goodbye. Now it was Jack and Cleo, alone on Wilson's property. Jack was going to try his hand at processing the Big Horn Pokémon, and Cleo got to watch all that meat being carved up in glee. The young man grabbed Wilson's large knife on the large table and prepared himself not to get grossed out at the dirty job ahead of him.

* * *

The tip of the knife sunk into the peak of the dead Pokémon and carefully descended its belly. About halfway through, the Stantler's internal organs were peering out of the downward slit, exciting Cleo at seeing disembowelment. She quickly scurried to Jack's right-side for a better view, looking in awed pleasure of Jack gutting the carcass. Her tongue ran across her lips in expectation with a few hungry whines, pressuring Jack to hurry up and prepare dinner. The human took his time and continued to cut along the belly, stopping around the breastbones. More of the organs started to bulge out even more so once he pulled the two sides apart. The knife went into the body behind the flopping internals and made a few more cuts inside, disconnecting the organs from the rest of the meat.

To his right was Cleo watching with an unblinking, toothy grin, like she was in the first-row seats of a spectacular play. The Weavile loved every moment of watching the Stantler get gutted and soon to be processed into bite-sized chunks of tender, juicy, nutritious meat. Such a spectacle was perfect for a Pokémon like her. In fact, when Jack was starting to scoop out the pile of offal to drop on the ground and deal with later, her left claw shot low and subconsciously rubbed her around her groin.

Cleo was finally giving in to her timely, rutting instincts that sprung up not too long ago. Though she was a predator and did enjoy seeing her food start to be prepared in front of her, she had her thoughts set on something else. Something else more hormonal, something more carnal. The Weavile refused to take her lustful, ruby-red eyes off the human, imagining taking him as her soul mate. Much taller than her, though partly biased from her height, and could make for a formidable predator with the loud, authoritative weapons at his disposal. All that meat he could bring in to carve up, all those Pokémon he could finish off if he wanted, to her delight. Cleo wanted to feel his warm body press against her naturally chilled body and soon get intimate.

Her knuckles started to work faster, pleasuring her more as they were lightly wetted. The Sharp Claw Pokémon wanted to take him as hers, and only hers. She would take him as a mate and let him have her way with her. The Weavile imagined all the joy and satisfaction to be had with letting him have his way with her, overflowing her perfect with his essence. She imagined him making love to her and giving her multiple baby Sneasel to raise as the best hunters this tundra has seen. Doing so would force the population of other, inferior Pokémon to its knees while theirs would increase in the long run.

Cleo truly had her mind set on all the core purposes of any biological being such as herself. Not just a Pokémon in her case, but a machine made of flesh and bone whose only purpose was to merrily kill and consume other species she deemed as inferior and indulge in the carnal pleasure of making more of itself. And it was all fine to her. The Weavile deemed it as natural, righteous, and encouraged to do such things. Otherwise, why did she and all the other ones of her species feel the same, and why not do it?

Cleo started to pleasure herself even more with the thoughts hormonal fantasies with the human and would it would mean for the Sharp Claw Pokémon of the future. Her fantasies got to a point where she could no longer conceal it. Jack finished scooping out the organs and plopped them onto the ground, leaving only the tender muscle left to carve up. The hunter heard something emanating from the right and turned out of curiosity. It sounded like a Weavile lighting panting and cooing in bliss. Jack turned around and saw something he would never forget.

There was the Weavile onto her knees and furiously masturbating to Jack more than ever now that Jack took notice of her, wetting her claws further and audibly breathing from arousal. The Pokémon had the corner of her left lip raised high, showing off some of her teeth drop in front of her lower lip with seductive eyes, one halfway closed. Visible puffs of heating Weavile breath were coming from her mouth.

"Wea…Weav…Wea-vile…" she panted, begging him to flip her on her back and start making Sneasel babies with her, or trying to get herself to stand up and pounce on the human, whichever would come first.

Jack just stared in awe, partially because he couldn't believe what he was witnessing, and partially because her arousal started to rub onto him. He sniffed light but rapidly thickening, intoxicating wafts of feminine Weavile musk and felt the very beginnings of a bulge forming in his pants. Jack blushed hard and embarrassingly turned away when Jack felt the fabric of his pants starting to bulge outward. He just didn't know what to think about Cleo masturbating in front of him while he was gutting the Big Horn Pokémon.

All sorts of lewd and questioning thoughts started to seep into consciousness with his wide-eyed, empty stare into the hollowed out body.

"( _This can't be real. There is no way what I saw was real. A Weavile on her knees, masturbating at me gut a Stantler. No no, no way. But she wasn't looking at the guts I just got rid of! She was masturbating and lo-)_ "

Then it hit him. The hunter closed his mouth, swallowed, and hesitantly turned towards the Weavile, stepping off to the side. Her eyes followed his every movement. Jack set the knife down on the work table and hesitantly approached Cleo. The Weavile grunted and worked her arm even more vigorously, making her head dip from sheer ecstasy at him coming closer and now using her other claw to lightly pinch one of her perky nipples.

"Maybe… you were just trying to court with me from before, wasn't it?" Jack cooed to the Weavile. "You've entered heat. You and your hips and, well, what you're doing now. That explains a lot…"

He buried his face on his palm and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck in absolute uncertainty.

(" _Oh hell, n_ _ow what do I do? What do I tell Wilson? He didn't tell me anything about things like this!_ ")

* * *

The hunter had his eyes glued onto the Weavile, trying to figure out what to do. He thought about seeing if it was time to release her and let her back into her wild, solo life to find a male Pokémon to pair up with. Or, maybe he should do his best to ignore it and finish the job on the Stantler and get next week's meals ready.

The scent got stronger and was being taken in with every breath Jack made. Her dazzling ruby eyes glimmering in the dark backdrop in such a stunning, soul-stealing stare of beauty and lust. Not to mention her gorgeous, dark, luxurious fur and astonishing crimson crown, complete with her pair of dark, perky nipples exposed from her fur and that cute crease on her chest that defined her more than anything. On top of it were her constant, quiet sounds of satisfaction, a blend of purring and horny moaning, trying to tell him to release that growing, eager erection from his pants and push the Weavile onto her back and breed until he seeded her belly.

"[Like what you see?]" mused Cleo and got up, swinging her hips with every step she took towards the gut pile Jack just scooped out. She looked back and winked like before, slowly lowering her body to let Jack get a good view of her rump and wet slit right below the center. Cleo bent down to pick up the heart from the offal pile and turned to munch on the staining organ. She loved the taste and had a claw dance its way down to her waist again, putting on a little show for Jack. She licked some of the thick muscle and gently nibbled on it, then fiercely tore a strip of it off in a heavy, lustful groan. Half it hung out of her mouth and was soon lapped into her mouth via her tongue. After the piece of heart had slid down its throat, the Weavile licked her claws while tilting her head back. Her tongue lulled out and swabbed her lips, savoring the blood around her mouth through an attention gathering grin. He used to consider blood and the internals of a living being the last thing from being sexy. Used to, and he got a taste of how Cleo viewed it. It was less nasty and more

After the piece of heart had slid down its throat, the Weavile licked her claws while tilting her head back. Her tongue lulled out and swabbed her lips, savoring the blood around her mouth through an attention gathering grin. He used to consider blood and the internals of a living being the last thing from being sexy. Used to, and he got a taste of how Cleo viewed it. It was less nasty and more _seductive_ to the human as she scarfed down the heart. How else could the young man react to such a sight?

Jack excused himself for just a second and panned his head in every direction in case somebody was watching. It was just him and her, out in the snow, having far more fun with the offal of a Stantler than he ever imagined.

"Wilson left to see the taxidermist, which means it's just us…"

Jack's heart started drumming, and he blushed even harder than before. He lazily covered his mouth out of embarrassment while Cleo finished her little performance. They were alone out here, and Wilson wouldn't be back for a while. The last shreds of proper thought and judgment were eliminated from the hunter's conscious, as all he was concerned about was getting himself closer to that heating, horny, lusty hormone-driven female Weavile and satisfying her carnal cravings.

He carefully approached her, knelt, and opened his arms. Jack's mouth was kept shut as he tried his best to keep a straight face, like a hard working scientist and his experiment, to see how she would react. Cleo scurried into Jack's grasp and wrapped her arms around him. The Weavile tried to leverage herself and hump against Jack's leg, purring and breathing through her open mouth while Jack scratched behind her ears. His erection lightly tapped against her stomach, making her break away and fixed her eyes on the peculiar bulge. The hunter picked the huntress up and held her to his face, causing her to lick and swab his face. Jack licked back and cradled Cleo like he did when he first meet her out in the wild. His right thumb was placed over her chest, rubbing her nipples clockwise and making her squirm in joy.

The two of them went back inside. It couldn't be better for them; a man and his Pokémon all alone on a cold night ready to get comfortable and start breeding.


	21. Chapter 21: Breedy Needs

**[Author's note: Recommended background song is Red Dead Redemption's "Estancia."]**

Jack carried Cleo in his arms back into Wilson's cabin, still warm from fresh firewood lethargically roasting in the pit. The hunter and huntress entered the cabin, excited about how they would pass some time on this windy, wintry night. The pair immediately went towards the bed Jack slept on. Cleo was laid upon the comfortable sheets while Jack propped up the pillows for her. He looked down at his wanting Weavile companion, soon to be a lover. He admired every quality he could while he threw off his outside winter wear, viewing her through an entirely new perspective-one of romance.

The Weavile was a bit bigger than the rest, after all, a few inches less than four feet factoring in the tip of her crown of feathers. Compared to most Weavile, who were about three and a half feet at the most. Her fur was a gorgeous dark indigo color, plush, thick, and allowing her to blend in with the coffee-colored sheets she was laid upon. She was on her back with her limbs sprawled out, especially her legs. There was a darker spot right in between her legs from the lightly scented but highly potent, feminine juices being secreted from her genitalia. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was just begging-no, _demanding_ Jack to throw off the clothes concealing his skin and vigorously fuck and ravage her to suit her predatory nature. She imagined his rigid rod of flesh intertwine and be sheathed in her sopping wet, feminine flesh passage and milking it down to the last drop and making her pregnant with as many offspring she wanted.

Cleo panted lightly at Jack who was down to his standard cabin apparel, pleading him to join him on the bed in the warm, protective sanctuary. Jack excused him as he ran towards the sink, wetting a few cloths to clean her up with before they would have fun together. The young man returned to his imminent lover, sitting up straight with a claw idly at her waistline and looking up with happy growls. There were still a few stains on her from her little performance with the heart Jack wanted to clean up. The hunter winked at the huntress, reminding both of them when he first cleaned her after bringing her inside and on the same bed.

First, Jack lightly scratched Cleo's forehead and underneath her chin, getting her in the mood to cooperate. Next, Jack placed the wet rag on Cleo's chest and passionately swabbed her down with firm circular motions on her chest to clean her up. The wet fabric briskly brushed against her stiffened dark nipples, and in conjunction with the cold water, shot tingles down Cleo's spine. The Sharp Claw Pokémon purred loudly in affection as she laid back and let the human wash her. The water also made her coat even darker and more striking, like a perfect black brumal sky in the night with a large silver moon softly hanging high. Once all of the blood stains were cleaned off, Jack swabbed her "dirty" legs with the cloth, starting with thorough circular motions on her inner thigh.

The huntress smiled and raised her leg for the hunter while resting the tip of a claw in the corner of her mouth, giving him a good view of her already wet crotch and letting him know she was into this. He refused to take his eyes off her lower opening, making his penis gradually grow and stiffen the more he stared and rubbed her inner thigh. Jack was losing his self-control; his body told him to quit the foreplay and dive head-first into Cleo's crotch and give her pleasure far beyond imagination.

Jack threw the rags aside, finally hopped on the bed, and loomed over the horny Weavile, casting a shadow over her. His hands cupped the sides of her chest with his thumbs rocking on her nipples and brought the upper half of her body closer to his. Jack loved the contrast of body temperature between his and hers, gliding his fingers all around the cold, wet hairs of her backside that welcomed any physical heat they could get from being exposed in the wintry night. Their lips were locked together, and their tongues darted into each other's mouths. Jack's large, broad tongue again contrasted nicely with Cleo's smaller, slightly barbed tongue as their lickers played with each other. Miniscule drops of saliva escaped through their tongues and fell onto the corners of their mouth, adding even more moisture to their love, of which they happily tried to lap and clean up. The lovers could smell each other from the moisture, taking in deep breaths and clutching onto their scented mark tight in their brains.

The Weavile's legs were hooked around Jack's hips as tight as they could be for leverage. Jack's right hand firmly cupped the back of Cleo's skull, right below her crown of feathers, while his other hand graciously rubbed her wet thigh, making her twitch and tighten even more at his touches. To return the favor, the huntress hooked her claws into the hunter's backside, digging past the fabric and starting to cut into the skin.

The hunter winced and groaned loudly in pain. The claws weren't doing enough damage to cause any serious injuries, but enough to counterbalance any pleasure he was receiving. He broke the kiss and hug combination with a small cry of pain to recover, making the Weavile relinquish her grip just a little bit in response. He succeeded in breaking off from Cleo, though her claws still managed to drag and cut some more skin and tear more fabric.

"Oh, ow-OUCH!" complained Jack. "Nnngh, ow…"

The hunter broke himself off and scooted back, trying to reset himself and thinking of a way to not get turned into a scratching post. She seemed unaware of what she was doing, though a bit sad at his discomfort. Luckily the hunter thought of an alternative.

"Maybe we should try something else. Like this, go with me…"

He didn't want Cleo to stop and apologize, so he wrapped his arms around her ribs and threw himself on his back at the foot of the bed. Cleo fell on top of him belly-to-belly and being pulled closer once more. Cleo smiled and took full control, showing an affinity for this new position of being on top. Soon the huntress dominated the hunter like he was a pitiful prey Deerling against the notorious predators of the frozen fields that she was proud to be one of.

* * *

The Sharp Claw Pokémon raised her hindquarters and backed up, waggling her hips and tail until her thigh brushed against Jack's still clothed erection, signaling her to stop. Cleo arched up and madly ground her pelvis against Jack's crotch, dry humping him. The hunter's hands were planted on the huntress's hindquarters, gingerly squeezing and rubbing them up and down past her cold fur, and his thumbs pressing and stretching on the very rim of her puckered orifice.

Her hands were cupped over Jack' shoulder blades, and doing so did cause him some more pain, but not nearly as painful as her claws digging into his back. Their mouths were tightly locked against one another again as their tongues tied into an inseparable knot. One of Jack's hands left her rump and pressed against her neck to draw the kiss closer; the Pokémon's spine tingled and arched in pleasure again.

Their tongues continued their little war in their mouths. Cleo was trying to be cute and fancy with hers while Jack went for more direct licks and laps inside hers, each unable to overpower one another of technique versus size. Soon Cleo's concentration lapsed and her crotch fell forward, off Jack's clothed erection. She didn't notice continued to hump against Jack's waistline for a little bit and falling backward, pressing her rump against the side of the shaft.

Jack lasted just a few more moments until he wrestled his mouth to break free from Cleo, being erotic in its own way as he desperately tried to free the erection imprisoned in his pants. His hands lifted his undergarments and finally exposed the rock-hard cock, standing and twitching just under six inches with a thin film of precum over his phallus. Jack's lover sniffed the air and smelled the lovely male musk of the human's exposed penis. She instinctively turned around quickly, almost scratching Jack across the face with the claws on her feet. Doing so placed Cleo's hindquarters mere inches from brushing against Jack's face.

He finally got a close up of Cleo's rump that she flaunted earlier when they were outside in the snow. Jack could feel traces of heat radiating off of it as a juice-soaked slit lightly bobbed in front of his face, starting to cause a trail of her lubricating fluids to pool, drip, and drop off from her pussy onto his collarbone. Her crimson tail feathers cutely twitched above her marvelous, dark rump, oblivious to Jack and her new pose. Jack's mouth fell open and his tongue peered out of his mouth, swishing about the air in thirsty desire, breathing and tasting the warm air coming from her body.

Cleo's face was mere inches from Jack's musky phallus. She eyeballed it in a half-curious half-wanting manner, wondering how she could interact with it without harming Jack. She already scratched his back with her claws and could try to stroke it if she was careful, or she could try her mouth while avoiding pricking it with her equally sharp teeth and-

In the midst of her thinking, Jack's tongue burrowed inside Cleo's cooch, sending a massive wave of raw pleasure through her body and directly into her brain.

"WEEEAAAVE!" cried Cleo out of shock and immediate pleasure of having his tongue pierce her pussy. It powerfully scraped and pushed against her vaginal walls of extra-soft, dripping flesh devoted entirely to carnal satisfaction. Each time Jack pressed and swept his tongue inside her feminine flesh, he was rewarded with more of her delectable, irresistible pussy juices dripping into his mouth and tongue. Jack's tongue greedily absorbed them like a dry sponge, jubilantly getting drunk on Cleo's feminine fluids and compelling him to harvest the tangy, romantic concoction.

Both of the hunter's hands clasped her hips to pull the entirety of Cleo's body closer to his face. Doing so allowed him tongue to penetrate even deeper into her loving, moist flesh cavity and acquire even more of the thirst-quenching, aromatic Aphrodisiac. Meanwhile, Cleo was experiencing total bliss and bucking her hips back to aid the hunter giving her oral sex. The human's lips were firmly planted on the Pokémon's vaginal lips, forming a tight lock to ensure no drop of her honey would dare escape and go to waste.

Jack's ears were blessed with a cabin full of horny Weavile squeals, squirms, and screams as he tongue-fucked her as hard as he could. Cleo could barely concentrate on trying to please Jack's cock in her maw. The best she could muster was encasing as much of it as she could in her mouth and suckle on it like a lollipop, getting a taste of the hunter's salty essence. Both of her arms were between Jack's arched legs, grabbing and tearing the sheets underneath them with her claws' sheer sharpness. The head of Jack's penis was pinned to her textured, ridged palette from her tongue pushing upwards and rubbing underneath it, careful to not tear or poke into it with her equally sharp teeth. It felt so good to Jack; he started to thrust his hips upwards to fuck her orally and rub his meat against more of her mouth. Just several pushes by both members later, Cleo embedded her claws into the sheets and screamed in orgasm, her voice considerably muffled by Jack's cock.

"[Y-Yes! There! More, moooore!]" Cleo wailed in her muffled native tongue as her body was forced to orgasm. Her pussy was vibrating and working twice as hard as before, making them excrete much more of her sought-after fluids. They quietly splashed out from the tight opening between her cunt and Jack's moist love-licker, splashing his face, some onto the bed, and some down his throat. He took a few moments to fully disconnect his tongue from Cleo, panting and purring loudly in tired satisfaction with her hindquarters raised as high they could go, stimulated by Jack squeezing and rubbing them.

Cleo unsheathed Jack's cock from her mouth and scooted off him to catch her breath right in front of the pillows. Her vagina was slowing down its orgasmic tremors and squeezing out the last of her sexual liquids to quietly drip on the sheets. Jack gripped his wet penis in his free hand and rubbed up and down, swiftly generating the excitement just below the threshold needed to start him on hitting his orgasm. He sucked hot air through his teeth and quickly sat up on his knees, penis still in hand, and aggressively jerked himself off. Jack held his most perverse thought tight in his mind about Cleo to reach orgasm. The hunter's breathing became audible, attracting Cleo's attention. She sat up on her knees as well and turned around with a blushing, horny but exhausted face from cumming, seeing her lover almost in pain from jerking himself off.

The sight of it bouncing up and down made Cleo's crotch tingle once more and made her mouth agape with arousal. All of a sudden, Jack stopped rubbing and clenched his cock tightly, aiming it up towards Cleo with an incoherent grunt of strained lust right as he began ejaculating. The first burst of his extra pent-up, sticky cum fired exactly like a gunshot from his Encore, speeding across the air in the cabin and splattering across Cleo's face; some of from it dropped its course and fell into Cleo's mouth. The salty taste of his male essence spread itself all across the predator's tongue, causing her to immediately crave more of his creamy, musky seed.

The Pokémon opened wide and rolled its tongue out as much as she could and held her two hands directly below her chin. She was ready to catch the remaining bursts of semen that immediately followed, hopefully her mouth. Gooey white shots of human DNA splattered itself all over the Pokémon's face, crimson collar, claws, and into her agape mouth salivating almost entirely by instinct. Multiple salvos of semen followed one after another in an erotic encore and splashed onto Cleo, adding a biological white coating to her naturally dark fur. Soon Jack's cumshots stopped short and aimed low to hit her stomach and the sheets, then totally ceased firing. The result was the Sharp Claw Pokémon covered in human cum, hungrily licking herself clean of his delicious protein where the only place she imagined would be better deposited was up far in her crotch.

Cleo cleaned herself as much of the hunter's salty, delicious protein as she could while cutely staring at Jack. Jack was still recovering from blowing his load. He even felt light headed from the ecstasy his body created, and suddenly feeling very thirsty. The hunter's lover leaned forward and put one hand on his shoulder and the other down to his fading erection, fixing his gaze upon him with eyes of pure infatuation.

"[Oh… don't worry.]" Cleo cooed while gingerly jacking him off between the dull sides of her claws. Jack temporarily pulled himself away from their love making and got up to go to the sink.

"Pardon me…"

He set the faucet to full blast to rehydrate himself while taking some time to think about what the two of them just did.

* * *

Was what the two of them did wrong, he thought? He heard a few stories from the news about trainers and their Pokémon in sexual relationships. Jack remembered the fact they were considered taboo and carried a lengthy jail sentence and other punishments, should such relationships surface. Even he thought they were disgusting and wrong from the first times he heard about them. Something taboo that would never be spoken of again, lest they suffer serious consequences for it.

Jack thought about how Wilson would react if he caught them in the middle of their love session. Just thinking about it made him break into a cold, regretful sweat and unusually fast heart rate. The young man desperately looked out the window and to the door. Outside was nothing but darkness now, and the door didn't move an inch, as it was just an inanimate object. He wiped his forehead and sighed in relief. Wilson said he was going to be gone for a few hours with the taxidermist, so that still left Jack and Cleo with a lot of time alone.

The hunter faced the huntress after rehydrating himself. It sat up on its knees with its face still covered with the hunter's salty and savory protein. So much remained that small amounts started to drip off the sides of her arms and jawline. She leaned forward and tilted her head, showing her right cheek towards the human. Her tongue rolled out and slowly wiped her lips and stayed lulled out of her mouth with gentle, patterned breathing. One of her claws pinched her right nipple, cooing and demanding more from Jack. She was still in a full-blown heat, craving more fun to be had with the human.

Jack's erection stopped fading away at the sight of Cleo covered in his essence and on her knees, demanding more of his seed through her body language. He felt drained around the crotch, but he could still happily satisfy that needy, horny Weavile lost in arousal one way or another. And not doing so would be the worst possible thing he could do to the poor Pokémon with such anxious needs.

The outdoorsman discarded any thought about whether what he did and was about to continue morally right. Who cares what they did, as long as Wilson didn't know about it? Just pass the cuts and stains off as scuff marks after Cleo got a little rowdy, nothing more and nothing less. All he wanted to was jump back into the bed and have another romp with the Sharp Claw Pokémon, wanting the same thing. Jack had another glass of water to give him some more stamina as he sauntered over with a playful grin for having fallen for her seduction.

"Oh, you little devil, you."

Cleo looked up expectantly at Jack, making him shudder just a tad at thinking of the acts they would perform this time and the waning fire making the cabin colder. The hunter liked seeing the huntress sloppily painted white with his DNA and cleaning herself for him. He certainly didn't mind when he was pinned on the bed. Her claws didn't hurt as much when they were on his shoulder blades. And the stories he heard of them did think to treat them as sort of an apex predator, after all, making her naturally be placed high up and controlling ones that fell underneath with those sharp tools of hers…

Jack took a good look at her claws and the small cuts she already made on the sheets. It reminded him of his somewhat aching back when they dug past his shirt and broke his skin. Not wanting to repeat it again, Jack hopped onto the bed behind Cleo and scooted towards the pillow, stroking his phallus to retain its hardness and wiping off the semen that was left over.

"I think I'll like this," he said while raising his left leg and swinging it over Cleo's head. Next, he inched himself downward, making his head rest on the pillow and placing Cleo right at his core. He used a single palm to press on the sides of his chin, cracking his neck on both sides to truly get more comfortable. The hunter smiled at the huntress and beckoned her to come closer and dominate him as such ravenous predators were naturally meant to do to prey.

"All yours."

* * *

The black devil made a rolling purr like an old rudder at seeing Jack open himself up and left to her will. Curiously, she lowered herself and sniffed all around his cock, breathing in more of that magnificent male musk. Her tongue devilishly jutted out and wiped all around Jack's penis. It picked up any loose male protein left behind, making her near intoxicated on his milky, masculine musk. At the same time, her claws pressed themselves firmly on the crease between his thigh and his pelvis, breaking through the skin by lightly dragging her palms, causing Jack about the same amount of pain from them on his back. But the greater peril was the fact her claws dangerously close to his scrotum. It could effortlessly slice it open if Cleo wasn't careful, causing a lot more problems than simply having sex with a Pokémon.

( _Oh this might be a mistake!_ )

Jack whined while he squirmed from getting scratched again, this time near way more tender areas. He was deathly afraid that speaking up would scare her and cause a claw to veer off over his scrotum, which was the last thing he needed. Luckily, Cleo soon stopped her oral sex and noticed the small trickles of blood she just drew out. The Sharp Claw Pokémon pulled her hands away and hungrily licked the breaks in his skin clean, almost in mockery of Jack's suffering. The taste of his blood and semen gave her an extremely exotic, wanting concoction that pleased her taste buds. With a sly look, she dug one of her stained digits into her mouth and lethargically pulled it out with a wet and seductive pop sound. The outdoorsman had one hell of an "I immediately regret my decision" expression from being left to Cleo's somewhat morbid volition.

Cleo suddenly dropped her mouth over Jack's meat stick, sandwiching it between her gums and tongue again, twisting her velvety licker on the underside of it. She _loved_ the raw, musky taste of the hunter's meat and puckered her mouth, making a much tighter seal on his penis. Some of the discomfort Jack received immediately faded away. In fact, it probably felt better than it would have otherwise been if it wasn't for the scratches, pain, and risk of one of her hands jerking towards his most sensitive area. Such pain and risk seemed to amplify the pleasure the young man was receiving.

He didn't complain, instead making muffled, mirthful moans as Cleo worked her lower jaw and the put tension on his sensitive steak, sucking him off for another drawn out minute. The hunter's meat soon got as stiff as it could as Cleo threw her head back with a wet slapping sound, leaving her mouth covered in saliva. But she was far, far from having her sexual appetite fulfilled.

Cleo abruptly scrambled on top of Jack to mount and straddle him, accidentally pinning the bridge of his shaft against her wet slit. Her rump was raised with twitching tail feathers while Jack slid an arm down and freed his phallus, making it stoutly stick up in the air. Traces of heat could be felt radiating off her genitals, knowing the best part was fast approaching. Jack felt a tiny droplet of her fluids fall and scatter on his waist from her sheer arousal. The Sharp Claw Pokémon could no longer resist the urge to mount the human and sexually ravage him.

The Weavile romantically locked eyes with Jack; fiery orbs of ruby from the wild locked with crisp orbs of sapphire from civilization. Cleo raised her rear just a little more and started to shift it backward- Jack swore he saw a light smile on her face.

With a mighty push downward, Cleo slammed herself onto Jack's penis, penetrating her.

And immediately she cried out in ecstasy that could only be conceived in estrus.

Jack jerked at the entirety of his meat being sheathed inside the Weavile's pussy and her pelvis grinding on top of his. To the Weavile, it was a tight fit, but oh so very worth it as every muscle fiber in her sopping vaginal walls brushed against the muscles in his meat. Cleo looked down with a look of drunken, hormonal happiness ripe with blush at the human. Exaggerated, horny female whines filled the cabin as she started to become more active and mate with the human, soon to be marked as his and to hopefully be made a mother.

The Weavile stopped grinding and cemented her hands onto Jack's chest, tilling through his shirt and breaking his skin again as they pressed against his torso. She used it as a lever to raise herself an inch at best and immediately drop herself on her lover, dynamically repeating in a robust rhythm. Both bodies had payload after payload of raw, rutting pleasure get directly injected into their brain along their highway of neurons and nerves with every rise and drop made by the Weavile, achieving higher intensity as she gradually worked herself to go higher. Fleshy, wet *spwlitch*slapping sounds mixed with lusty whimpers of both genders echoed with every repeat of her sexual rhythm.

Jack started to breathe hard as he tried his best to reduce the pain of her claws digging into his chest while she was fucking him as hard as ruthless she could kill a defenseless Deerling fawn. It helped that he genuinely enjoyed their faux predator-prey domination and submission play, glad to be on the receiving end of both cases in spite of the possible pain. As much as the pain directly detracted from the pleasure he was indulging in, he honestly did not want it to go down any other way. Both of the human's palms groped the Pokémon's rump, further establishing it by trying to "pull" her off and "resist" their vigorous act of breeding.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon's back arched back from getting grabbed on the ass, now starting to add little spins and twists for gyroscopic flare. _Thrust, thrust, slap-quip,_ Cleo also added some slow high-and-hot raises, leaving just the tip of his phallus inside her for monstrous slams on his crotch. After doing so, she ground her hips after fully sheathing Jack's penis in her pussy again, completing the luxurious sexual mix-up. The entirety of Jack's meaty muscle was engulfed by her wet walls every time she slammed down on him, partially aided by some the saliva left behind on his crotch. The hunter felt her pussy trying to milk him for all possible worth as his penis tried to hunker down and be sheathed inside her tightly. Jack's knees shot up from his legs being retracted, shivering as if he was buck-naked outside right now.

"Weave! Weavile! Vi-Weave wea vi!" moaned Cleo as she starts to go even faster, fucking the ever living daylights out of the human like no tomorrow. Because Jack already ejaculated all over Cleo from their first session, he was A-Okay with Cleo picking up her pace. She could go as fast as she wanted and their intercourse would still go on for a while. The human was in complete submission of being pinned down under her and getting roughly fucked at a pace beyond his control, and he was entirely okay with it. He didn't appreciate her claws tearing up his chest up even more, but if it meant he could be ridden for a few more minutes, he would gladly stomach the pain. And so he did, allowing both of their bodies to try and hit their second orgasms as quickly as possible.

The Weavile felt a warmth spread to every part of her body like a flame creeping along a piece of dry tinder. Her pussy muscles tightly contracted and snapped like a powerful recoil spring, bringing a secondary orgasm. She knew that her second wave of lubricative, male-attracting, feminine fluids was going to start spewing out in erythematic fashion, and how wonderful it would feel. The Weavile wanted to do this with the human every day, the only one she dearly loved.

Cleo kicked it into a full-throttle, dominating fuck and worked her hips as hard as she possibly could with her remaining stamina. Her ventilation became strained and swift, puffing for air every so often and starting to sweat from the exertion. The claws were even more vicious against Jack's shirt and chest, amplifying both signals of pain and pleasure. The outdoorsman took his hands off his lover's rump to let her be more efficient. Said hands spread on either side of the human and pressed against the sheets as support. Jack raised his no more than a few inches to elevate Cleo's ride and tried to time it to thrust with her. The body heat started to intensify inside the Pokémon's body as she thought about how many Sneasel babies he would give her in return.

"Vi~Vi Weavile!" howled Cleo. Her eyes were sealed shut and her tongue was out of her mouth from unfiltered ecstasy. The Sharp Claw Pokémon managed to squeeze in about a dozen thrusts in the span of a few seconds as if she was stealing his energy. By now, Jack's erection was just starting to chaff and go raw from the sheer amount of rubbing it did against her crotch until she pressed herself against Jack's manhood as far as she could go.

A high pitched whine reverberated throughout the cabin from Cleo's second orgasm. Her feminine flesh clamped down and madly pulsated like an autonomous vice grip around his throbbing, yearning erection. High amounts of pussy juice gushed from the walls and splashed out of their tightly-interlocked genitalia in perfectly blended waves. Jack's groin region was doused in her lovely juices and egging Jack on to give her more of his seed. He used this opportunity to catch some breath and suck air in to help numb some of the pain he was still in. After the fourth major pulsation and leak, Jack sat up and started to propel himself in and out of her tender, orgasming cunny so he could join her in his second climax.

The hunter's approach completely threw the huntress off guard, even managing to extend her orgasm by a couple more dying streams of wet affection. The Weavile's hands were finally taken off Jack's chest and put one on his upper back and the other against his nape for support. Her eyes were wide open in shock and post-orgasm jubilance, for now it was Jack's turn to return the sexual favor.

Intense wet meat slapping sounds rung in their ears with an encore of *spwlitch*, *spliptch *,*spurligtch.* Jack started to feel that climactic build up churn deep in his groin, unable to wait anymore to hit his second orgasm. Partially to finish their intercourse on a high note, and partially so Jack wouldn't have to deal with the Sharp Claw Pokémon's namesake rip through his shirt and tear his skin anymore. Much like how Cleo did, Jack accelerated his thrusts more and more, coaxing that familiar build up to surface and erupt inside of his lover.

"Erngh, hrrnguah! Ah, I-" groaned Jack from Cleo moving her claws up and down against her back and from the strain of desperately trying to cum, "fuck! Fah-Fuh, Cleo~!"  
The pent-up payload got the pressure it needed to shoot up and dynamically expel itself from Jack's body. He gave one final, full-length raise and slammed Cleo onto his shaft to give his orgasm the tiniest nudge it needed to be let loose. Jack clenched Cleo as tight as he could immediately before his body took over and started his second round of hardcore ejaculation.

The first salvo of his balmy and ropey seed shot out like a hotly loaded rifle bullet deep inside her womb. So much came with the opening at such a high speed, that a few droplets of it instantly rebounded and splashed against the lower half of his shaft. A trembling, recoiling encore of semen followed in swift orgasmic contractions. It took only two salvos completely oversaturated the Pokémon's genitals and started to flood her uterus with his seed leaking out through every tiny opening of their locked together genitals.

Several more salvos of the human's seed gushed out and embedded itself deep inside Cleo. The seemingly endless streams of his hot, balmy semen threw her into unparalleled, hormonal, carnal ecstasy of knowing she was being bred. All she could think about was that she was getting countless Sneasel babies directly pumped deep into her fertile, receptive womb and grow within as a result of breeding with a perfect mate. Cleo imagined her breasts expanding and full of nourishing milk and her belly swelling up even more with so many so beautiful babies to birth and raise to be the best hunters this land of ice will ever see as Jack seeded her belly.

Realistically, both of them knew that there was near zero chance of this interspecies intercourse conceiving offspring.

But there was always the tiniest chance it would happen, and that was more than enough for Cleo.

Not to mention all the times they could redo this.

* * *

Jack's climax died down, and he felt utterly exhausted and drained of any sperm or stamina that was left inside of him. He gave exaggeratedly hyperventilated from the toll their intercourse had on his body. The hunter was left with a parched mouth, a partially ruined bed, a terribly torn up shirt, and who knows how many bleeding scratch paths were tilled into his torso.

" _Oh… Oh my…oh man, huuuf, huuuuuf, ah man…_ " Jack mused aloud with Cleo still clinging onto him. He carelessly fell backward onto the pillow, sweaty and thoroughly worn out. He stared at the ceiling with a light head and fuzzy eyes, slowing down his ventilation. His Weavile mate finally relinquished her grasp on her back and stretched herself out over his stomach, setting her claws on top of his shoulders yet again.

Cleo thoroughly showered Jack in countless kisses, licks, and forehead nudges of pure affection towards him, complete with the motor-like purring of female Weavile satisfaction into his ears. The hunter panned his view towards the estrus-euphoric Pokémon and couldn't help but smile warmly at her. He pressed her tighter against his chest and lavishly stroked her entire back with one hand and the other to grope and massage her rump. Her coat felt even softer to the touch after they mated.

"[Thank you, thank you! I love you, I love you so much for making me so happy~! I wanna do it again!]"

"Well… that was fun, heh… wasn't it?" Jack answered while lightly laughing, not quite picking up what she said, other than that she was beaming with bliss. "You can mount me whenever you want to, Cleo~."

The lovers' sexual highs were wearing off, leaving Jack to deal with the scratches all over him. The hunter meticulously took the huntress off his stomach, sat up, and let his legs dangle loosely over the bed's edge. He was sore and bleeding. Jack felt like he marched through a mile of overgrown thorny bramble with all the wet marks of irritation running across his body.

"But maybe next time we'll do it Eevee style."

Cleo only gave another cute whine as Jack got off the bed to try and clean each other up. The same rags were put under the running sink and brought to Jack's bed where they were quickly put to use. Cleo happily allowed herself to be cleaned again while Jack did his best to wash away the blood on his body. Once that was done, he tried his best to clean the bed, dampening the sheets with the rag and scrubbing it down to get as much of the sexual stains out from the bed. The stains and scratches he could probably pass off as Cleo just getting rowdy and not keeping her mouth closed. Enough of it was cleaned up that Wilson most likely couldn't figure out exactly what the two of them did when he returned.

As soon as Jack was done with the rags, he remembered that there was still a Stantler he had to process outside, and maybe get a spare shirt while he was on his feet. Jack sighed and threw on his outdoor gear to finish the job. He moved towards the door and looked behind him. The Weavile propped herself against the pillows and curled herself up in a ball, fast asleep with a darkened, damp coat that made her look gorgeous. Jack gave a huge, awkward smile and blushed deeply at his lover.


	22. Chapter 22: Once More Into the Gray

Right before Jack went to sleep, he made sure to exchange his torn up shirt with an intact, warm red and black argyle sweater. Now with a new shirt, Jack and Cleo slept in well and late the next day, exhausted from their adventures out in the wild and their romp on top of the cabin's bed. Wilson returned late at night with the Stantler head with to be placed on a wall thanks to his taxidermist friend and didn't bother to wake up or disturb his slumbering apprentice. The grandfather too decided to sleep in to celebrate Jack's first successful hunting kill of the season, and hopefully it wouldn't be the last. And so they slept in, both savoring Jack's success on going out, shooting a Stantler, recovering it, and processing it into a trophy and dozens of pounds of tender, delicious meat.

It was nearly noon by the time Jack got out of bed, feeling totally reinvigorated. Cleo already woke up and hopped off the bed to further lounge around the cabin. Wilson was at the dinner table, taking in all the detail of his grandson's Stantler kill. He noticed the novice hunter finally get out of bed and move towards the expert hunter.

"Mornin'," spoke Jack. He pointed towards the head plaque on the table and asked, "What's that there?"

Wilson turned the plaque around and pushed it towards the edge of the table towards Jack.

"It's the Stantler you shot. Congratulations!"

It took Jack a second to figure out what he meant. When he did, his jaw opened wide and cheerfully laughed. He picked it up and held it close to his face to admire it up close.

The Stantler's fur was the same walnut color it was when Jack shot it. Its face was permanently fixed into an idle, somewhat menacing stare, cocked slightly to the left. There were stubby sprouts of antlers growing out of the top of its skull, measuring no more than an inch and a half in height. It's black, glassy eyes stared into Jack's soul, reminding him of when he briefly made peace with the full body after he recovered it. Again he envisioned himself and the Stantler many years older, bigger, and more experienced that would've provided such fantastic sport between the hunter and his prey. Cleo was also looking up at the Stantler, but with more varied emotions. On one hand, there was one less feeble Pokémon in the world, giving her species a slight edge in overall resources from less competition. On the other hand, she still thought it was creepy for humans to forever keep preserved heads of their victims on walls, though this was being thought by a Pokémon that actively relished in outright eviscerating others in a shower of blood and violence.

Jack took a deep breath and lowered it with a smile.

"My best one!"

Wilson chuckled at his grandson's optimism. He, too, was glad Jack managed to find success in these frigid parts of the world. With this, he could take it home and keep it there forever as a memento of his journeys through the untouched lands of ice and snow, teeming with awesome Pokémon.

"Take it back with you when you leave. I can hang it up for you to look at in the meantime, okay?" Wilson suggested as he got up from his chair. Jack nodded and handed it back to Wilson. The hunting hermit caught a glimpse of Cleo eyeballing the Stantler mount right at Jack's legs. It gave him a pang of disgust in his gut, and also prompted him to ask something important,

"Oh, also," spoke Wilson as he went on with mounting it on the cabin, "what the hell happened to the bed last night? Why is it all scratched up? And what's with the sweater, what happened with your other shirt? Not that it looks bad."

Jack froze and struggled to swallow as he was thrown on the spot of a difficult question to answer. He shot a glance at Cleo, giving him a warm and humble look back at the hunter. Jack racked his brain as hard as he could to make up and excuse. The last thing he needed Wilson to get pissed about knowing that he had sex with the very Sharp Claw Pokémon he still despised at the bottom of his heart.

"Oh, about that… she got rowdy."

Wilson immediately raised his eyebrows and lowered his head in suspicion. Jack held up his hand to explain his white lie to cover up the much more controversial truth.

"Yesterday she was getting rowdy because of that spray used to cloak yourself in the wild. She didn't like it at all, oh heck no. All throughout the hunt, I had to put up with her looking sour at me and- well, when I returned, she started to act stubborn again."

Cleo looked up, confused and concerned about Jack.

"Yesterday, I thought she was acting fine. Almost like she wanted you to give her attention," Wilson reasoned. Jack managed to keep a poker face and elaborated on his excuse.

"Yeah, but I meant when I went back inside with her when you were gone. Suddenly she started to act all uppity again on the bed. So I caved in and played around with her on the bed, washing that stuff off her, that stuff. Turns out she just wanted to play with me. And I found out she likes playing rough, claws digging into the sheets, all that. She's still known for digging those sharp things into other things, you know."

Wilson stared at the young man, unsure what to think. He looked back at Cleo, who started to look sour like Jack explained, then back at Jack. Wilson turned his head and flubbed his lips, sighing in disbelief.

"Damn thing gonna make me have to change the sheets. Maybe it should be kept outside from now on if you're gonna keep it around."

Jack kept his mouth shut as seeing Wilson successfully buy into the lie. He didn't like what he heard, but it was so much better over what would happen if he basically told him "Cleo pounced on top of me and fucked me like a horny Skitty with a heating Wailord, tearing apart your bed in the process."

Cleo gave a stern whimper and looked up at Jack, quite unhappy with the results. Jack couldn't feel that sorry for making up the lie since it was half-true; she did get on his nerves when she was covered in the spray, and they did "play" an awful lot on the bed. He knelt down and whispered to her while petting her behind the ears,

"It'll be alright."

Wilson turned around to see Jack trying to comfort her and rudely intervened.

"You may have bagged a Stantler with it, but this is MY property. I make the rules around here. And when I say, that thing's gonna stay outside, it's gonna _stay outside_. Unless you want me to get rid of it all together, which I'll gladly do that."

Jack stood up and frowned at his grandfather.

"Can't she stay inside just a little longer?"

Wilson immediately replied with a resounding "No." Jack was genuinely upset.

"The thing can survive just fine out in the wild. We don't need to be bringing it in here, boy. You're lucky I didn't get rid of it in the middle of the night. Now take it over leave it."

Jack gave a reluctant, accepting "Fine." at Wilson's proposition. The young man squatted down, scooped up the Sharp Claw Pokémon in his arms, and opened the door for just a second. He whispered that it'll be alright and he'll see her soon again into her ear again and placed her outside. She didn't resist much but felt heartbroken at being separated by the human. It was only last night that they had such a fun, bonding time with him, and now she was put outside of the cabin and separated by a large hunk of sturdy wood.

Cleo pouted and scowled at the door, and ultimately turned away to deal with it out in the cold. Though if she had to be somewhere with Jack, she'd much prefer it out in the snowy, sub-zero temperatures she was accustomed to living in. Being inside that cabin with the fire didn't suit her all that well.

"[ _Well, at least the chill is refreshing out here. Maybe he'll come out soon, and maybe there'll be leftovers from that Stantler he carved up._ ]"

Cleo paced around the cabin for a few laps, finding nothing, and eventually sat down and propped her back against the side of the cabin. She found solace in being out in her natural climate, listening to the gentle winds blowing across the vacant tree tops and watching them sway for several long minutes.

[ _Alone again. Feels pretty nice out here, actually. That place was starting to get too warm, anyway. Now, what to do…hmm…_ ]

The Sharp Claw Pokémon panned down to ground level, trying to see if there was anything else alive in this barren plateau. Far off in the distance behind the first line of trees, something caught her eye. She swore she saw something move through the woods and got up to try to get a closer inspection. Cleo took about twenty paces closer and caught a glimpse of something peculiar.

* * *

The object in question was colored a rich brown-black fur, sticking out against the stiff, frosted dead wood of its surroundings. Traces of yellow coloring could be made out on its head from the Pokémon's side view. More of it could be gradually distinguished as it passed through gaps in the woodwork. The Weavile squinted and saw a slightly more defined shape of the brown-black object move left to right against a small gap between the trees, briefly coming into plain view. Soon it disappeared behind a larger maze of thick trees before she could learn anything more about it.

The strange part was that there were several more of the dark shapes following right behind one another. The Weavile eyed the new shapes coming in and disappearing behind a thicker set of trees. The last one, however, stopped and looked straight at the Weavile for just a second. It stared back at Cleo with black, beady eyes and fully revealed the milky marking on its head. It was in the shape of a crescent, above a patch of yellow fur for its mouth. The faraway figure looked away and swiftly scurried away to join the others.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon stared with a hand stroking her chin in awe. Mixed feelings danced all around her stomach as she may have figured out what that was. It was almost certainly the one thing, other than her kind, that was the most feared and revered in these icy lands.

"[ _That… those were-_ ]"

Suddenly the cabin door flung open, breaking the Weavile's concentration. She turned around, startled. Cleo instantly recognized the colors and pattern on the coat, realizing it was Jack.

"Miss me?" asked Jack as he held out a big cut of venison from the young Stantler he shot. The Sharp Claw Pokémon immediately forgot about getting thrown outside from the burly hermit or the strange figures she saw pass through in the distance. She hadn't eaten today yet, and Jack was going to fix that.

"[All right! Food!]" squealed the Weavile as he looked up and pleaded with the young man to feed her. Jack squatted and held it out for her to take. Cleo greedily snatched up the generous cut of venison and started devouring it as the carnivorous, covetous killer she was. Pleased grunts came from her throat as she tore into the slab of meat, wolfing it down knowing that all that tender muscle and protein would only make her stronger.

Jack scanned the horizon, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Just more gray bark, gray clouds, and white snow everywhere.

"At least there's more color inside the cabin. The scenery gets pretty bleak and boring out here, I agree. How's that meat?"

Cleo continued to silently munch on the last portions of the meal, looking up at him with those same ruby eyes reflecting both a lust for killing and intimacy. He nodded at her cute little display and spoke up again,

"Well, I don't think Wilson found out what we did last night. That's good. I intend to keep it that way, but I'm still… gonna need some time to recover from last night. I'll pass on hunting today." He put a gloved hand on her shoulder and comforted her,

"I think by tomorrow I'll have recovered to head out there again with you and see if I can bag another Pokémon. If we're very lucky, we'll be able to do it again. What do you say?"

Cleo swallowed the last chewed up pulp of meat in her mouth and gave several adamant, approving yips.

Jack spent the rest of the day lounging and listening to more of Wilson's hunting trips and his dislike of the Sharp Claw Pokémon. Tomorrow he would get back to business with his Pokémon partner and try their luck out in the frosted woodlands. He inspected his guns, cleaned them, and went to bed early that night.

* * *

He awoke around six o'clock the next day, eager to go out and get a second Pokémon under his belt. Surprisingly, Wilson was sleeping in. Normally he would've already been up and frying some vittles. Maybe he was getting some dreamy sleep since he ordered Cleo to stay outside.

The young man scratched his head and opened the fridge to find something to eat. In every corner of the refrigerator were chunks of venison, some raw and some already cooked, waiting to be used up. He looked at the stove and back to the venison, and then came a strange thought. Jack closed the refrigerator and went for the chest holster given by Wilson, housing his Casull revolver. Though Jack used his Encore to take down the young Stantler, he wondered how it would've gone if he used his grandfather's hand cannon instead. The empty cylinder was swung out and spun a few times.

( _Maybe I could my next hunt using this. Firing it was pretty nasty before…_ )

Wilson finally woke up with a bellowing yawn as he got out of bed. The first thing he saw in his half-awake stupor was his grandson fiddling with his hand-held Pokémon repellent. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Jack and the revolver.

"Hey, whuttur you doing Jack?"

Jack looked up and snapped the cylinder shut and put it on the table before answering his the veteran hunter.

"It's empty, it's empty! I ain't shooting anything inside here!"

Jack stepped back and let Wilson pick it up and open the cylinder. It was empty like Jack said, making Wilson relieved. He set it down on the table as Jack explained his thought process,

"I was just thinking about if I had used it instead of my Encore. It's a lot of punch in such a small gun, and I was just curious. I didn't want to load it in the house or anything. I'm not stupid."

Wilson gave a long, suspicious look at the boy.

"Probably for the best you didn't try it," spoke the professional as he pointed a thick finger at it, "That rifle suits you just fine for plinking at some Stantler or Sawsbuck."

Jack grew a little sad at his response.

"I've been loading six since you've let me take it with me, is that bad?"

"Like I said, in newer models like this one you can fully load six and it'll be okay. Ancient revolvers lacked the safety features of modern revolvers, so you partially load the older ones. I do that for all the wheel guns on the range out of habit, but out hunting I bring it fully loaded, yes. Still gives your wrist a hell of a ride, but that shouldn't matter much."

Wilson cleared his throat and opened the fridge to start making breakfast while continuing the conversation.

"As long as you treat them with respect as tools and not toys, you'll be fine. You've been doing that since you got here."

Jack felt a little warm at Wilson's compliment and getting the question off his chest. He quietly removed his holster and put the magnum back in it.

"So, still stick with it fully loaded, just for defense purposes?"

Wilson pulled out a thick, plastic wrapped container of raw venison from the fridge and gave an adamant nod.

"If you think you can handle six, then go ahead. Being extra sure is never a bad idea. Going out today?"

"With Cleo, yeah. You don't mind that, do you?"

Wilson looked backed for half a second, then to the floor, then back at the stove to prepare a meal for the two of them.

"I guess," sighed the hermit, "You already got your own Stantler with its help. To be honest, you've been more successful than I imagined. Of course, you can always ask me to go along with you."

The grandson had no intention of swapping out the Weavile for his grandfather as his guide in the deep north. It was the least he could do after getting her to a safe environment when she was badly ill, where she may have otherwise succumbed to other opportunistic Pokémon.

"I still feel comfortable with her. Damn good pair of eyes and instinct. Heck, without her I probably wouldn't have bagged that Pokémon. Oh, give me an extra plate with a hearty serving so I can feed her when I'm done. "

Wilson grumbled under his breath as he fired up the stove for their meals. It didn't take long for a large meal consisting mostly of filling, free-range protein-backed meat from the some of the most organic sources around. Jack slurped up all the liquid and drippings on his first plate, leaving the second one a hearty serving for his carnivorous companion. His stomach was ready to go for the day. Wilson finished his at the same time and brought out a small blue and tan box of ammo for the revolver.

First the outdoorsman sprayed himself in the scent masker like before. Next he fitted himself with his standard outdoor gear to stay warm, and finally came his single-shot hunting rifle and his grandfather's magnum to stay protected. His Encore's holster came first over his back, then the chest holster over his left hip. The young man removed both guns, opened them up, and fully loaded them; one in the chamber for his rifle and six in the cylinder for the magnum. Back snuggly into their holsters they went on safe as Jack made his boots extra tight. He started to feel closer to the big man he imagined himself as when he first arrived.

The black gloves slid onto the appropriate hands and balled into a fist a few times, giving his arms a protective shingling effect. The second plate of food was picked up and held by one hand, intended to feed Cleo. The spray bottle was sandwiched between his left armpit and left bicep. Though Cleo hated it as much as Wilson hated Sneasel and Weavile in general, it was a necessity for success.

"Be careful out there, Jack," spoke Wilson as he cleaned up the dining area. Jack gave a glance over his shoulder, nodded, and opened the door with his free hand.

* * *

The outside was as biting and numbing as ever. The sky was blue with few clouds moving swiftly underneath the sun, failing to cover it up. That also meant it was much windier outside, instantly blasting Jack's legs with chipping winter breezes and making him shiver just a tad. But a little wind never killed anybody, and there were more important things than complaining about the wind chill.

Jack almost stepped on the chewed, lifeless body of a juvenile Zigzagoon at the base of the door. Cleo had found it last night and made very short work of it, owing to her predatory instinct. She decided to bring it to the cabin as a little "present" for him. Jack scrunched up his face and sidestepped the Zigzagoon, wondering where Cleo was. Surely she did not abandon him to go out and reap the lives of other small Pokémon, right?

"Cleo!" called Jack multiple times, hoping she would respond to his voice. At the fourth call, the Sharp Claw Pokémon scampered from her napping place at Wilson's processing area and rushed to Jack's feet, rubbing her forehead against his legs.

"Can't keep away from the violence, huh?"

"[There you are! Did you bring more food for me? Oh, I hope so!]"

Cleo was energetic and lively at her favorite companion coming out with a large plate of Pokémon meat for her to dig into. The plate was set down in the snow, allowing her to feast.

As usual, the Weavile made many exaggerated lip-smacking noises as she tore into the plate, madly chewing it into wet, easily digestible pulps to swallow and further break down in her belly. Jack scratched his head once more.

"I also forgot you're a messy eater. Does it taste so good you have to be face-down in it?"

She stopped stuffing her face just long enough to thoroughly chew the food in her mouth, swallow it, and give a robust grunt. Juices and stray fibers of flesh were found on every corner of her mouth and cheeks as the Weavile resumed her feast.

 _(Up to this point I had to deal with scraps, and everything tastes so good now that I can fill myself up! And that's exactly what I'm gonna do!)_

Jack propped his back and the sole of his left foot against the wall of the cabin, waiting for Cleo to finish her meal. He looked up at the clear sky once more and down to the distant tree line, wondering where he'll go this time. As Jack stroked his stubby but blossoming beard, he got an idea.

"Hey Cleo," he called as she was cleaning up the plate, "how about you decide where to go this time? There's plenty of ground to cover, and I feel like this one should be your turn."

The Sharp Claw Pokémon looked up with an even dirtier mouth but also with her eyes sparkling in inspiration. The Weavile turned her head past her right shoulder, staring at the small opening where she got the best view of those strange shapes. They passed through there yesterday, and no snow fell, so the tracks will still be there. A deep curiosity was burning inside her, trying to claw its way to her conscious to make her investigate them and see where they would lead to.

Jack looked on in the same direction as her, knowing that she was most likely going to lead him to that part of the wilderness.

"I don't think we've been there before. We can try it out if you want."

Cleo ate every last scrap of food off the plate and licked her mouth clean of any sauces or stray tendons remaining. Now she was set for a while on investigating that corner of the snow lands where those odd figures passed through.

That is, until Jack suddenly pulled out the can of scent masker and doused Cleo with it. She whined and waved her hands in disgust of getting sprayed again.

"[Come on! Do you really need to do that?]" Whined the Weavile in her native tongue, performing a full one-eighty turn on her current mood. Jack did feel a little guilty spraying her with it, but it was necessary, lest they wanted to get sniffed out and have every Pokémon with a functioning set of nostrils in a mile radius leave the area.

Jack picked up the plate and went back inside, quickly putting both the plate and bottle on the table and heading out to officially get Jack's third hunt started before the door shut on him. Wilson sat there at the table, mumbling about his grandson tracking in snow in between shots of whiskey.


	23. Chapter 23: Beware of Where You Wander

Jack Hotchkiss was on his third hunt, and the second hunt accompanied by the Sharp Claw Pokémon he took in with open arms. They were fed to give them energy and motivation for going outside, and sprayed with the scent masker so other Pokémon wouldn't be alarmed at something foreign if they caught wind of them. The Weavile was allowed to lead the way this time, and Jack followed her every move, though she was still unhappy at having to be sprayed in the first place. Nonetheless, the pair of hunters hiked through the compact snow and even farther into barren woodlands, feeling the crusty crunch of ice with every step underneath their soles.

Usually, Cleo would stop every so often and carve a landmark symbol into the side of a tree to mark their progress, and then climb the tree in the hopes of finding something above. This time, the Sharp Claw Pokémon had a different approach to the tracking as she spent far more time on the forest floor than climbing to vantage points. Cleo was keenly following a set of paw prints left in the snow from the far away figures cloaked by the trees from yesterday. All she could remember were their dark winter coloring and unique crescent symbol in the middle of the head before they scampered far off into the wilderness. The Weavile wished she had gotten a better view of them, but they didn't seem that significant or threatening with their limited numbers. Wherever they went, the Weavile would feverishly follow.

Jack marched on behind Cleo with his firearms holsters and letting his hands swing freely at his side or dart freely into his pockets. He too picked up the cluster of odd paw prints left in the snow, traveling together tightly, and walking a few feet to the cluster's side so he wouldn't tread over and erase them. The tracks ran from the left to the right, and there was an overlapping set from right to left, indicating that this was a common path for others in this area to take. From their size, it must've been a small pack of small Pokémon that moved through this area; they were most likely from juvenile Pokémon.

Yet, there was something much more telling about this set of prints. Leading the prints were singular, large paws that the smaller tracks did not stray from much. All of them had five ovals on top and a large, bent circular shape underneath them. Right above the five ovals were five stubby triangle markings, making a great depression in the compacted snow. Faint ideas and images of the makers' identities exploded as they had the answer in their minds.

Jack suddenly swallowed hard and had his heart start beating faster as he just figured out what left these tracks behind as well; he was still too afraid and uncertain on how to explain it to his partner, whether it would be right to continue going or turn back.

( _These tracks… don't tell me what I think they are. This can't be right; can't I convince her to turn back? I don't like where this is going._ )

Cleo turned around and saw Jack breathing through his mouth and looking incredibly nervous. When he realized his partner was watching him, he puffed out his chest and became a bit defensive.

"What? What is it? Something wrong?" spoke Jack as he tried not to make himself look like he was panicking. She scanned him from the foot to the head and back down again before turning around and continuing to move on. Cleo also finally found what the makers of these tracks were, and had a much different attitude compared to Jack. She flexed her claws with a smirk, and turned back to the human. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was eager to lead him into the heart of action and demonstrate that she truly was an apex predator of this region, and that none would surpass her.

At one point along the hunters' hike, both of them stopped and crouched at the base of a birch tree, where the cluster of prints widened and made many depressions in the snow. At the very base, jutting a few inches above the snowline was a jumble of light scratch marks made by whatever the duo was currently stalking. The ones in the middle went the deepest, with five markings going about half an inch into the wood. The scratches around it seemed to be more like sketches etched into old paper from a dull pencil, hardly getting even a quarter inch of the way in. The Weavile alternated between studying the scratches and the tracks.

"Looks like they stopped here to play a little." said Jack while pointing to a sharp right, "Then they went thataway. You think we should turn back?"

"[I think we're getting closer to them. I want to keep moving!]" Cleo hastily spoke as she made a break to get back to stalking the tracks. Jack shook his head to clear himself and dragged himself along the Weavile's hunt, with his right hand never a few inches away from having to draw the revolver at his side.

( _Damn me._ )

* * *

Jack continued to follow Cleo as they went deeper into the untapped, untamed arctic. Jack did his best to keep his eyes and ears out in his surroundings, realizing how far one could see in a forest in wintertime. No foliage or leaves; nothing but empty webs of hardened wood for a greatly field of view. The Weavile saw that the prints now came at a crossroads and stopped to think about her next move. The tracks branched off to the left still covered overlapped by both directions, and the other to the right, a fresh set in one direction down a steep drop off to both of the hunters' right sides. She carved yet another landmark into a tree and punch-climbed it to figure out which way to go. Jack's hand was still hovering over Wilson's four-fifty-four Casull and started to doubt himself on the provisions he brought. Because Cleo stopped to survey area, this came Jack a few moments to double-check his gear out of a necessity for peace of mind.

Jack started with Wilson's Casull. He opened the cylinder, counting all six bullets to double-check that he had fully loaded the six-shooter. The cylinder snapped shut, and he did the same thing for his Encore, restoring his peace of mind that his guns were ready to go at a moment's notice.

" _The last thing you ever want from a gun on you are carrying is it to randomly go off."_

Maybe he was overthinking things when it came to his weaponry. Handling fully loaded firearms when there's no need for it was also a good way to accidentally trip something and make it go off. His peace of mind started to fall apart again; he tried to think about the other side of the coin Wilson told him about,

" _As long as you treat them with respect and as tools and not toys, you'll be fine._ "

That didn't help much. Jack's doubts that the guns he brought may have been _too_ good and would betray him were winning, and he thought more in depth about them going off if he ever so slightly nudged one of them when walking and-

The hunter was interrupted with a loud optimistic call from the huntress, swiftly descending the tree to share new information.

"[I think I found the way to go!]"

The young hunter snapped out his delusions from his partner's call. She returned to ground level and beckoned to him to come closer towards the left, as Jack accidentally put about twenty feet in between him and her.

"Oh. Coming!"

The young hunter jogged through the snow with the slope becoming much more noticeable. Jack turned to his right out of curiosity, seeing the once-treaded path and a dramatic drop off point that the trail took. It was essentially a cliff side, with a drop of about seventy to the right into a small bowl-shaped depression in the ground. He shuddered at the thought of having to descend it and accidentally slip, making him tumble down fast and hard. The hunter trusted the huntress's judgment on this being the right way to go and caught up with her.

Fortunately, Cleo was leading him up to the left, making him climb back up the gentle snowy slope and away from the steep drop off. Then she started to veer off to the right again, taking him back along the cliff side, but at a point where the drop off was much less frightening. It only took a few minutes for Jack and Cleo to arrive at what caught the Sharp Claw Pokémon's attention. The hunter and huntress quickly about fifty from the place that caught the Sharp Claw Pokémon's attention, and Jack nearly gasped when he saw what it was.

The Weavile had led the human to a cave along the shallower edge of the cliff.

Jack looked down at his feet and suddenly saw way more of the paw prints left in the snow, most of them going into and out of the cave. Something had made the cave its home, and whether or not it was nearby was a matter that could only be solved by closer investigation. Cleo looped behind Jack, sticking close to him and making him the leader of the duo. He looked at the Sharp Claw Pokémon, silently compelling him to get closer to search the cave against his better instincts.

Jack gave a stern breath and drew his Encore rifle with a fast-drumming heart. He slowly marched towards the cliff side, ready for anything.

"Cleo… get ready."

* * *

The opening could fit two fully grown rotund men through it, with several huge stones fixed into place as a sort of lip on the sides. The rocks' colors were a mix of ice-white and pale shades of indigo-gray. Along the edges and faces of the stones were a plethora of tiny grooves, trenches, and troughs in addition to a cracked-layering effect, carved into them from years of frost wedging and general weathering. The parts that were not weathered or chipped looked smooth in comparison. The whole piece of land stuck out above the ground like an oversized chiseled stalagmite, possibly from formidably earthly forces crashing into each other millions of years ago.

To the upper-left of from their position was another trail sloping upward somewhat for about six feet, then parallel with the rest of the ground. To the duo's right was the drop off that could easily result in a careless creature's death. There was a much wider strip of land where one could loop around the cave and still comfortably walk. It felt historic and protective; the latter most likely being why whatever they were stalking decided to make its residence here.

Jack reached the entrance of the cave and squatted down to look inside through his scope. Not surprisingly, he could only see about ten feet in before it got too dark to discern any details. From what he could see, it sloped downward about a foot and a half and narrowed by the same amount, before it faded into darkness. Jack wondered what the rest of the interior was like, of how shallow or deep into the earth it ran. Cleo peered over Jack's legs, trying to do the same thing. The Weavile took a couple more steps towards the cave, having a slab of stone go fixed into the Cliffside over her head. The Sharp Claw Pokémon almost vanished into the darkness as Jack called to her.

"Hey, Cleo! Don't go in there! You have no idea what's in there!"

The Weavile turned and adhered to Jack, wandering out of the cave. The Weavile paced around to the left in search of other things to explore near the cave. Meanwhile, Jack got up and panned to the right, once more thinking about the drop off and what would happen if he slipped and tumbled down. His right eye peered down the scope of his rifle, getting a much more in-depth view of the land below, pretending he was a marksman at war.

He had a full minute of scoping out the land below when he heard some strange cries coming from his Pokémon companion. The hunter ignored her, until he heard an odd, light, high-pitched whine coming from behind him. That one wasn't from the Weavile. It sounded too juvenile to be her. On top of it, the cry she made sounded like one of agitation and challenge, quite a different sound that she was not used to making. The hunter turned to around from the right and saw Cleo staring in down something behind her. His heart skipped a few beats as he saw what Cleo was upset over.

Off to the left of the cave about forty feet from where Jack and Cleo were standing, were four Pokémon; they were the same figures that Cleo saw move through the woods yesterday.

They had very dark brown fur, almost like rich syrup and quality confectionaries. Each one had a buttermilk-colored mouth, covering up a large portion of their strange faces. Two stubby, circular ears were on each side of their heads with a chubby tuft of a tail on their rear. The most distinctive markings, by far, were the white markings on each of their heads; a white crescent right above a pair beady black eyes, similar to that of the moon.

Jack knew what they were, and he instantly knew that things like this were an ill omen out in the wild, especially in this time of the year.

"Teddiursa cubs!"

* * *

There was a pack of four not far from Cleo and Jack. One was standing up with a small paw in front of its mouth, expressionless and naïve at seeing the foreign figures in front of its home. Another one was on all fours and looking in the opposite direction, licking its paw to clean its face. Two others were rolling around on top of each other, playing in the snow and making little mewls of happiness. The one looking at the human and the Weavile gave several more cries of alarm to its siblings and potential parent.

"Ted! Teddi! [Who are you?]" cried the cub, waiting for a response. When none came, it started to wail out of fright.

The other Teddiursa turned around and shook violently at the sight of the Weavile and human in front of the cave. Soon the other two playing cubs stopped and looked on in frozen curiosity of the pair, not knowing if they were harmless or potential predators.

"Teddi! Teeeeeddiii! Ursaaaaa! [Mommy! Mooooomyyy! Help us quickly!]"

Soon all four of the Teddiursa devolved into a saddening choir of confused and worried juvenile grieving. Though they were young, they still could recognize if things were out of place or seemed wrong, and had a defensive mechanism; their voices. Unbeknownst to Jack, the Little Bear Pokémon were crying for their mother to step in and protect them from the mysterious, nasty monsters about to ransack their home.

Jack was not sure how to think or react to the situation. He looked at Cleo to try and find reassurance or a suggestion, who surprised him by eagerly staring back at the four Little Bear Pokémon with an open-mouth, predatory expression. A threatening growl that could only be heard by Jack was coming from the back of her throat. To her, they were just food. Nothing morsels of tender, juicy, juvenile flesh. They wouldn't put up any sort of notable fight against her or the firing support of the human she tagged along with. However, she knew that when Teddiursa age and grow, they become a far, far different Pokémon than their young selves. That's when they get too dangerous that even her kind would not dare bother with them. Sure, they get big, but she had speeds and smarts. According to her reasoning, if you eliminate them when they are small, pathetic, and helpless, you will never have to deal with the problem of them being fully matured and far more dangerous.

Cleo was dying to charge ahead and start tearing into the four cubs watching and wailing from a distance, but something inside of her was telling her otherwise. And for whatever reason, she obeyed to the silent voice of reason, sticking by Jack's side and not taking the initiative. Her patience was starting to wear thin, as the hungry predator she was, and every second that passed was another shackle breaking and failing to restrain her from diving into close combat with the cubs.

The sounds of distressed Teddiursa started to feel like nails on a chalkboard to Jack, still locked up on the spot. He thought about scaring them off, or at least shutting them up for just a second. Thick, gloved things squeezed the forehand and trigger guard of the rifle, giving him a contemptable, borderline illegal idea and action. His right thumb pressed down on the hammer to cock it, setting the trigger to a sensitive state and pointed the muzzle at the Teddiursa. Even if he missed, the sudden eruption of sound and flash of light would surely make them disperse and leave them be. His left eye was shut, and his right eye looked through the scope, getting an extreme close-up of one of the Teddiursa. Gloved fingers danced on the trigger guard until they suddenly squeezed the metal loop and one rested on top of the trigger. Jack seriously contemplated scaring them off with excess use of force. Doing so would also invite Cleo to sprint and finish off the stragglers, leaving no witnesses.

"I _s it even worth it? But if I don't shut the Teddiursa up now…_ "

Right as Jack was about to give the trigger the tiniest nudge to fire his weapon, he heard something that made him ill at ease, and so did his Pokémon partner. It was a ferocious, protective bellow from something as equally primal, towering, and vicious. The two hunters shifted their attention to the left, the source of the sound, and knew that things were about to get **really** bad **really** fast.


	24. Chapter 24: Man, Beast, Bigger Beast

And so the cubs' call was answered. Stomping in from the left was a large Pokémon, sporting a body of pure muscle and thick bronze fur, undermining Jack's rifle as if it was a slingshot. Several long strips of thicker fur draped from its shoulders like the tassels of an old poncho. Four massive claws of diamond at the end of each limb, making Cleo's seem no more than old glass. It maw was a yellow-tan color, similar to the interior of its ears. Intense glimmers of sworn paternity and protection glowed in its eyes, now perceiving the threat to it and its family. It's most distinguished feature was a large, dark honey-colored ring on its underbelly, catching the immediate attention of both of the hunters as they froze in place, marveling at this region's most marvelous marking of misery.

It was a mother Ursaring. The ferocious Hibernator Pokémon feared by every traveler that dared to walk amongst the frozen north in all of history. Though they do not seek as much trouble or destruction as Sharp Claw Pokémon, they effortlessly dwarf them in might, muscle, and lasting impressions once provoked.

The mother Ursaring stood up on its hind legs and let loose a primal, raging roar at the human and the Sharp Claw Pokémon, stopping their hearts out of few for just a second. Jack's aim was snapped to the Ursaring's center of mass, but the intimidating roar severely shook his aim. His arms gave a nasty twitch and accidentally pointed the rifle up and to his right exactly when he pulled the trigger.

 **Bad idea.**

The .308 round sped out of the barrel and embedded itself between the collarbone and shoulder blade of the mother Ursaring. A noticeable pang of pain coursed throughout the Hibernator Pokémon's upper body, and pissed her off to no end. It screamed an even louder roar of rage and started to charge at Jack on all fours at horrifyingly fast pace.

" **Oh** _**FUCK!**_ "

Jack Hotchkiss threw his encore rifle to the right and desperately fumbled for the .454 Casull revolver on his left hip. Before his hand was even half way across his torso, the Ursaring tackled Jack with its wounded shoulder, making him yell as he flew backward several feet from the force. Cleo sidestepped the collision, frozen in place from consternation and cowardice from watching the Ursaring suddenly get on top of Jack. It dug its maw of thick chiseled teeth into Jack's chest, chomping down with heavy, frothing moans to mangle him as its powerful paws were getting wet from scraping across the human's fragile body.

The young man wailed the loudest he ever did from the sharpest throes of agony he ever experienced. He flailed and squirmed madly, doing anything to desperately get away from his attacker. His head was turned as far right as possible, seeing Cleo helplessly watch him getting mauled off to the side. The man screamed as his lungs out at the Sharp Claw Pokémon for assistance.

"CLEO! **HELP!** _ **HELP ME! PLEASE**_ _-_ "

Doing so only made the mother Ursaring even more agitated. The Hibernator Pokémon clenched down on the man's right hip and dragged him back a couple of feet away from the Weavile, making him incoherently scream as he was dragged like a flimsy ragdoll. The Ursaring chomped down on the man's chest again and violently shook its head from side to side, sawing through his chest and coat. Out of desperation, Jack punched the Ursaring in the face several times, temporarily succeeding by making the Ursaring let go. However, the Ursaring immediately responded by crunching Jack's hand in its massive maw and twisting its head about far more dynamically, mauling the man even more and threatening to tear it off. With a final shake of its head, the Hibernator Pokémon whipped its head to the right and let go of the arm, causing Jack to roll over onto his stomach from the momentum. Now the Hibernator Pokémon was starting to dig tooth and nail into his back with hungry moans at fresh blood filling its nostrils; fabric and flesh alike were being excavated from the Ursaring's assault.

The hunter felt every tooth and claw cut through his clothing as if it was made of paper, throwing him into the deepest thralls of torment. All he could do was helplessly scream and squirm at being mauled by an Ursaring. Meanwhile, Cleo was sheltering inside the cave, watching her human companion suffer at the mercy of a much more terrifying Pokémon. Stressful memories of the Weavile scout she followed when she was a Sneasel clawed their way out of suppression, clouting her mind and sight.

( _It's… happening again. Except with him instead of the scout…_ )

It was just like last time. Only instead of a mother Pidgeot protecting her eggs from a Weavile, it was an Ursaring tearing apart a fully grown human without any chance of fighting back to protect her cubs. Jack's screams started to line up perfectly the cries of anguish the Weavile scout faced, making the past seem even more like the present. Her views of being an apex, unstoppable, top-of-the-world predator of the north were shattered at the sight and sound of a much bigger Pokémon maul her friend. If Jack couldn't fight back, what hope have she? Cleo would be torn to pieces in a second if she was in the same position as Jack! Her paws curled tightly out of not having the willpower to step in, at feeling as small and useless she was as a Sneasel in the eyes of her pack. For just a moment, the Weavile sobbed.

Cleo looked to the left to try to avoid at least seeing Jack getting mauled by the Ursaring. As she did, she saw the four Teddiursa cubs crept closer to watch and learn self-protection from their mother. They were watching on naïvely of how to maul a man, almost entertained by seeing their mother doing such a good job of taking care of the big, nasty, intruder.

 _(The cubs. They're reason we came here.)_

Something inside of her snapped. Her feelings of cowardice and acceptance left her as fast as they came in. She started to contemplate leaving the cave and directly and dangerously contributing to the hunts as the others did before she left.

( _And what happened next? Something about parents, food…and orphans…_ )

An intense calling for war and revenge was churning within the Weavile. Every second passed with her eyes glued on the Teddiursa cubs was another chain of restraint breaking apart, setting her a little freer. A little wilder. Somewhat more _predatory_. Cleo knew she could not fight the Ursaring head on. But, there was a weak spot she could exploit like her first encounter with the Sawsbuck and Deerling herds. But still, she wagered that the safer option was to remain hidden in the cave and letting Jack perish at the hands of the Hibernator Pokémon. It is what she was currently doing, and it was the smart thing because-

The Weavile's concentration was interrupted at hearing the Ursaring clamp down on a raw, exposed wound deep on Jack's back. It tossed him onto his stomach once more, dragging its claws directly down his shoulders, eliciting a stomach-churning wake-up call by him with his upper torso raised and eyes closed out of reflexive agony.

"CLEO _ **-AAAWAAORAGGH!**_ **"**

The last chain of mental restraint was broken as the hunter's companion made up its mind.

* * *

The Sharp Claw Pokémon bolted out of the caves, making a horrible screeching sound to draw away the Hibernator Pokémon's attention from Jack. One of her claws sliced at the Ursaring's side, cutting off a tuft of fur and overall being as effective as getting stabbed with a pen. A new, painful prick was felt at the Ursaring's side, and then a second one further along its right flank, forcing it to relinquish its hold on Jack and look behind it. There it saw the Weavile at the human's side it had forgotten, racing across the snow towards the Teddiursa cubs. The Weavile leaped forward with its arms stretched out, missing the cubs a few feet and face planting itself into the snow. All four of the cubs squealed in panic and awkwardly tried to get on their feet and run away from the Sharp Claw Pokémon. She picked herself up and brushed the snow off with loud hissing and screeching at the Ursaring, now fully getting its attention.

"[Here! Here I am! Better run for it!]" barked the Weavile at the Ursaring, briskly jogging at the Teddiursa that stopped to look at the chaos of the cubs.

"[What are you gonna do, huh?!]"

An extended moan of unrest bellowed from the back of the Ursaring's throat. It hopped off Jack and started to rush towards the Weavile.

The Weavile stopped chasing the Teddiursa and looked back at the charging Ursaring, getting just enough time in to sneak in a vehement, toothy smirk of officially challenging the protector of the cubs. She put herself into overdrive and sprinted as _fast_ as she could on the frozen floor.

The Ursaring continued to give chase, recognizing the more immediate threat to her precious cubs. Terrifying roars and curses came from the Ursaring as it chased after the Weavile. Cleo was naturally much faster than the Hibernator Pokémon could ever hope to. However, she knew that a Pokémon with a build like that could eventually outlast her in the long run unless there was a tree to climb. All she needed to do was bide time for Jack to get his guns ready again and not get herself caught by the protective mother in the first place.

"[Come on! Come on you! Don't you want to protect your cubs?]" Cleo further taunted the mother, who was about a dozen feet behind her and stomping without exhaustion through the icy ground. She could hear the thundering march of Ursaring paws stamp onto the snow, and how they started to get a tiny bit closer with every full stride of the mother. The Sharp Claw Pokémon turned around for a fraction of a second and picked up her pace, adding more distance between her and the mother. The two continued to race around the frozen forest, leaving Jack all alone to himself, traumatized by the mauling. He used every bit of strength to roll himself onto his back yet again.

Jack writhed in absolute agony, only now realizing that the mother Ursaring was not eviscerating him. Jack stared at the sky through partially closed eyes, sobbing and hyperventilating from the physical suffering that saturated his body. His jacket, pants, and gloves were torn apart in every place and getting damp and sticky. Jack felt his body rapidly exchanging blood and body heat for dirty snow and stinging subzero air as he lay on the ground, hardly able to move. The edges of his vision started to blur and fade as he grew weaker with every passing second.

His left hand feebly stroked the left side of his body, feeling all of the tears and shreds marking his jacket. Then his hand went over his left hip, bumping against the chest holster give to him by his grandfather. Jack frantically patted the area around his hip, expecting the revolver to be there. When it wasn't there, he dug two thick digits into the holster. The holster was empty. Jack felt his heart getting squeezed.

The hunter started to sweat and breathe even faster from the magnum no longer being at his side. He struggled against every instinct of his body to sit still and recuperate, leaning up and scanning his surroundings in the faintest hope that it would still be around. He feared that because of the gun's white frame, it was in fact around him, but totally invisible and would miss the help right under his nose. But it clung on, knowing that it had a red front sight and pitch-black grip that would stick out from the surroundings.

( _Where is it, where is it where is it please please where is it?_ )

Jack flopped around and started to crawl behind the scene of the mauling, thinking that it got could've have gotten knocked that far out of him. He painstakingly dragged himself on his belly towards the ravine, searching for the thing that could equalize the Ursaring encounter.

( _Please don't tell me you fell off, please don't tell me you fell off, fuck fuck fuck, come on…_ "

He brought himself about eight feet from starting to slope off into the ravine when he saw something in the corner of his eye. It was a striking black object that contrasted more sharply than anything could have in the snowy biome. Jack cocked his head and held his breath, meticulously reaching for the black object and closing his hand around it. He picked it up and lifted it, feeling the sudden increase of weight and density. Relief washed over the tortured soul at getting the .454 Casull back in his possession.

Jack suddenly felt the pain in his right hand spike, forcing him to switch the gun to his left hand. It was the same hand that foolishly tried to punch the Hibernator Pokémon in the face, and got too damaged to handle firearms effectively. If Jack wanted to shoot the magnum, he would have to do it off-hand and hope for the best; an excruciatingly tall order that could get him killed. But just because the Ursaring was gone now, did not mean it would come back later and finish him off as a snack. Thoughts of the recoil when he first fired it plagued him, making him regret ever coming out here and taking it with him in the first place. Wilson said it was supposed to be Ursaring repellent after all, though if he was wrong about it…

Jack heard some more of those hellish grunts off the distance in addition to some familiar ones. What was going on?

Off in the distance, Cleo was still leading around the Ursaring to make space for Jack. She had been running around at full speed in circles, starting to feel some of her energy fade away. Her speed was falling, she was slowing down, and the angry Ursaring mother had no qualms about burning up some of its fat and stored energy to chase other Pokémon in the winter time. All of the running and exertions hardly made any effort on the mother Ursaring's endurance, even factoring in the single shot from Jack's rifle. At this point it was starting to get personal; Cleo wanted this Hibernator Pokémon to hit the ground dead soon, even by her hands. However, the smarter strategy was to keep giving it the run about. Why bother engaging in direct combat with it, why not keep doing what you know will work? While the Weavile continued to run and lead around the Ursaring on the nose, she saw Jack laying on his back in the snow with very subtle movements. It looked like he was fiddling with something from afar.

Maybe Jack got enough time to start moving and get back to fighting against the mother. It gave Cleo an idea. Perhaps she could end this right this right here, right now. Cleo was aware of the second gun Jack brought with him on this hike, that odd firearm that easily fit in the palm of his hands. If the mother could be lured into Jack's range and kept distracted just enough for him to take the hint, they might have a chance of bringing her down. The hardest part was to make sure that she was still the center of attention instead of Jack. This brazen chase had to end soon or later anyhow. Against the Weavile's better judgment, she opted to go for a gamble and start; if all else failed, it would probably give Jack just enough leverage to finish the Ursaring off himself.

The Sharp Claw Pokémon stopped in her tracks in front of a tree for just a moment and faced the brown behemoth. It started to brace itself to take a swing at Cleo with its fierce right paw. Cleo held up her arms, beckoning the mother to keep on barreling towards her like she was trying to surrender. She held her breath and dived to the right at the last second, forcing the Ursaring's paw to cleave right across the tree. It hit the thick bark rather hard, carving in a thick gash in the bark, though the Ursaring fully expected her paw to cleave through the Weavile instead. From the mother's position, she could see Jack off in the distance, but being humiliated by the Weavile that dared to chase and threaten her cubs was far more important to attack. Cleo got back on her feet and called out about a dozen feet away from the Ursaring and closer to Jack,

"[What, is that all you got? I was standing completely still and you couldn't hit me? How typical of meatheads like you!]"

When the brown behemoth looked in her direction, the Weavile scampered back and climbed another tree, getting even closer to Jack for a better shot with his guns. She climbed the tree as fast as she could wall jeering the Ursaring, trying her best to stay unscratched while being the center of attention.

The Ursaring looked up at the Sharp Claw Pokémon hanging off about thirty feet from the tree, looking below and mocking her. Once again the brown behemoth charged towards the Weavile, hell-bent on settling the score with her. At the base of the tree, the Ursaring stood on its hind legs and sunk its claws into the tree, making it shake and rattle. It forced itself up a few feet and dug its hind claws into the hardened bark, then stretched its forelegs up and forced itself up again. It repeated this process with a look of pure anger on its face, go up much faster than the Weavile anticipated.

While Ursaring prefer to walk on the ground, they are also highly skilled tree climbers to help them reach food, a fact that the Weavile was not aware of at all.

Cold shivers ran down Cleo's spine as she saw the mother start scaling the same tree she was in at an alarming pace. Hollow barks of intimidation came from the Weavile, trying to scare off the Hibernator Pokémon. The Weavile panned her view up, at the canopy, fearing that she would be chased to the very top of the tree.

"[Hey-Hey! What are you doing? I didn't mean it! You can take a joke, right?]"

The mad mother ignored the Weavile's high pitched whines of worry as it continued to force its way up the tree, jaws salivating from a mix of hunger and hatred. The sounds of cold wood snapping and familiar Pokémon wails off in the distance perked up Jack, who sat up a little and gazed to his side. About fifty feet from where he was to the left, he saw a distant gray and red figure high in a tree with a large turning towards him and the base of the trunk, while fast moving brown figure was climbing up to meet it. He gasped and loosely pointed the revolver in the general direction of where the action was occurring.

( _Cleo!_ )

Jack waved his gun around to Cleo, signaling that he still had life left in him. His Pokémon companion climbed just a few more feet and saw the incapacitated hunter she tagged along with making more lively movements. She yelled a few more frantic pleas at the hunter from the encroaching threat below, divided between continuing to climb and jump from a greater height, or sit there and get torn apart by a vicious pair of jaws. Cleo ceased climbing, scooted to the left a little, and waited until the last possible second to kick herself back and off the hardened tree.

The extra force from the kickback gave Cleo about a dozen more feet than she would've gotten by just dropping from the tree. Cleo felt the rush from soaring through the cold air from such a position, catching a closer glimpse of her human companion from the bird's eye point of view.

Unfortunately for her, she had a very rough landing, unable to curl her body into a better landing posture due to being at a terrible angle. The Weavile landed on her left shin first against a hard rock cloaked by the snow, completely botching the rest of the aerial stunt. She tumbled and rolled on the ground, getting rough spots on all parts of her body from the hard landing, especially her left shin. She didn't land; she crashed.

Thinking nothing of it, Cleo wildly tried to get back her feet from the plummet, only to slip and face plant again. She tried it again, and third time, with each fall hurting more than the last. Now the Weavile was starting to accept the pain and soreness in her leg, her body's message of jumping out of a tree and skinning her knee on a rock hidden by the snow.

The Ursaring was starting to climb down from the tree just as fast as it was climbing. The huntress turned around and saw that large, unstoppable vessel of muscle and teeth match the same elevation as her yet again, fearing for her life. Of all the times she could have been crippled, why now? Cleo dragged herself closer to Jack's line of sight, hoping that all of her efforts were not in vain.

A dominating, beastly roar shot deep from the Ursaring's throat, forcing both hunters to look at the bronze behemoth of an enraged mother closing in to claim their lives for the protection of her cubs. She immediately ran as hard and fast her hurt body allowed through the snow, eyes and teeth deadest on the new threat, the Weavile. With every step came primal growling as the mother thundered across the landscape, planning to maul the Sharp Claw Pokémon far worse than she did to the human with the guns.

Jack's heart was drumming while every last drop of adrenaline was circulating in his body, sharpening his senses and will to live. His right hand was still in terrible condition, but managed to disengage the magnum's cylinder from the frame. It plopped out to the left, giving Jack a view inside.

Six bullets. Six shots. Six three-hundred grain chunks of metal traveling over sixteen hundred feet a second. More than enough kinetic energy per payload to rip through anything made of flesh and bone, no matter how thick or monstrous it may be.

Ursaring repellent.

* * *

Jack Hotchkiss held his breath and sat up in the bloody snow. The cylinder was snapped shut and ready to fire at will. His ruined right hand pulled the hammer down, rotating the cylinder to the next chamber and setting it to a crisp single action pull like his Encore. The same hand clutched a death grip on the magnum's black handle while Jack's more intact left hand was placed over it, trying to match the tightness. He didn't care at all about the recoil or shooting it with his non-dominate hand. It was now or never.

The Ursaring was now roughly thirty feet from Cleo, and about forty feet from Jack, ample range for the magnum. She was still focused on Cleo, who was deathly afraid of the massive Pokémon coming closer, seeing the damage it did to Jack. Fear, uncertainty, and leg pain shackled Cleo down, forcing her to stay put to accept her mangling, muscular end. Now six feet from being able to rip through the Sharp Claw Pokémon. Five feet. Four feet-disembowelment range with the Ursaring's far superior claws of diamond compared to the Weavile's claws of glass. The Ursaring roared again like she did just before tackling and mauling Jack, ready to repeat the endeavor.

Jack Hotchkiss's right eye stared down the front sight post of the magnum, aiming at the Hibernator Pokémon's center of mass, knowing there was no way he could miss now.

His left index finger pulled the trigger, no longer holding back the hammer from dropping forward and smacking into the firing pin with a precious force, hitting one of the hot magnum loads exactly in the middle of the primer.

 **{** _ **BAAAANNNNNGGGGG**_ **}**

One of the .454 Casull rounds shot out of the barrel. A deafening sonic boom cracked the icy air and echoed far throughout the ice domain with a substantial smoking barrel dispersing a waft of burnt powder. The bullet struck the Ursaring in the side, whizzing past its neck and right shoulder blade from being at an angle. It pierced the formerly Ursaring's nigh- impervious hide and traveled about three-quarters of a foot through its thick walls of muscle, tumbling and missing its organs. Sharp throes of burning, burrowing pain rippled throughout the body of the Hibernator far in its sides from getting shot by a far more powerful round. Jack could only hope he hit his mark through the tinnitus in his ears.

Instantly, the rampaging Ursaring stampeded towards the incapacitated human that stole the center of attention from the Weavile. It could smell the smoke and burnt gunpowder, feeding its rage on top of the pain starting to amplify in the lower section of its body. Another gunshot rang out of the barrel, striking the Hibernator Pokémon in the right shoulder blade before Jack was swamped by the familiar agony of being caught in the trashing jaws and paws of a protective Ursaring mother.

Again the air was filled with screams of excruciating pain from Jack being at the mercy of the mother. With only his left hand giving a death grip on the magnum, Jack did the best he could to point it at the Ursaring's center of mass and fire it point blank, making the gunshots even more impactful. In the middle of his chest in between her jaws, Jack stuck the gun directly in the Ursaring's other side delivered a point-blank blast. Most of the bullet's energy payload was deposited into one of its rear ribs and lower intestinal track, destroying them and converting the excess energy into a deadly, disruptive shockwave turbulently absorbed by the surrounding muscle; it retained just enough energy to punch through the other side of protective layering.

As punishment, the Ursaring raised its left paw and brutally scraped the side of Jack's head, peeling open a large flap of muscle layer above his right ear, trying to tear it off and expose his bones for cracking. Right afterward, the Ursaring used its almighty paws to shove off against Jack's body, pushing him a few feet back closer to the drop-off and giving him his bloodiest, most agonizing wounds yet. He tried his hardest to use his wounded right hand to cup and protect the large laceration freshly carved into the side of his head.

Jack thought that if he could somehow could a clean shot on one of its vital organs, it could cease its assault and be killed instantly. The gun's hot muzzle managed to wriggle underneath the massive mother and poke against her belly, lining it up for a fourth shot. This time, a point blank gunshot clipped the underside of its heart and the top portion of its liver, dealing significant damage to its vital organs. Out of spite, a fifth shot followed suit from most of the recoil also being absorbed by the brown mass, allowing Jack another quick shot in roughly the same location. The barrel still traveled up along its chest before the fifth bullet went out, puncturing a sizeable chunk of its lung. But the gunshots hardly made a dent in the Ursaring's performance. Its body was too hopped up on adrenaline and fury to bother pulling back from organ damage.

And all Jack had left was a single round of .454 Casull before the gun would be nothing more than a thick hunk of metal for bludgeoning. All the other gunshots had failed to quell the Ursaring's rampage. Although the effects were affecting the body and would eventually bring it down, the Hibernator Pokémon was too hopped up on adrenaline and fury to bother pulling back from organ damage. It would eventually succumb to its wounds, but Jack needed it to succumb _now_. He knew that he was a few seconds of mauling and a couple of lacerations away from dying.

Yet he also knew of the one spot that if shot, above all areas at this distance, would _guarantee_ and instant death with no further animation. It was **all or nothing.**

Jack Hotchkiss pried himself a few inches back from the Ursaring using his legs, willingly dragging her claws through his chest all for an iota of improved leverage. The hunter made a cry so chilling and agonized from deep wound channels being etched into his torso that even the Weavile shuddered at hearing it. But he knew that he had to do it. Otherwise he would wind up forever frozen and forgotten in northern Unova. Pure adrenaline and the natural will to survive against all strife gave him the motivation to ignore the suffering and make a final, most effective bout for his own life. With his body freed from the exact amount of weight, Jack Hotchkiss forced the blistering hot muzzle of his grandfather's magnum into the bloody maw of the Ursaring.

His arm was as far back into the mother's throat with the barrel pointing as high up towards the Ursaring's skull as possible, scraping and branding the delicate walls of her inner mouth. The maw snapped shut with sharp teeth digging into Jack's wrist and clashing against the robust metal frame of the firearm. His left thumb pulled back the hammer in spite of his hand getting crunched by the Ursaring. Hair trigger set, cylinder in place, locked and loaded with the ruined hand gripping it to aid in firing it.

With one final scream, Jack Hotchkiss pulled the trigger on his grandfather's revolver, firing the sixth and last bullet.

 _ **Hands upon a dead man's gun and looking down the sights, heart won and seems**_ _ **atone for being given a reason to fight. All the pain he's been facing about to come into the light.**_

* * *

BANG

* * *

The final bullet sped out of the chamber, punching through soft mouth muscle. It effortlessly broke through the armor-like bone of its lower cranium, shattering it into hundreds of fragments of skull beyond repair. Now with no more hard material in the bullet's path, it came into contact with the most vital organ of them all.

The brain.

The bullet annihilated every chunk of brain matter it physically touched, pushing it out farther and wearing it down to an elegant pink and red mist. The majority of the energy exploded across the Ursaring's brain in a violent, disruptive shockwave that knocked loose, deformed, and destroyed surrounding brain tissue from the original channel. What energy remained carried the bullet out through the top of the Ursaring's cranium, smashing through more bone and thoroughly exiting the Pokémon's head. A trail of skeletal and carnal destruction was left in its wake.

With a destroyed brain, all significant body functions immediately ceased as the Ursaring's perceptions turned into instant still blackness, not even perceiving the deafening blast of sound or blinding muzzle flash. All other wounds and internal damage fully came into play, rapidly shutting down whatever organs could persist a second of operation even with a destroyed brain.

The moment Jack fired the final cartridge, he and the Ursaring were knocked back against the cliff, added by the gun's untamable recoil. It was just enough power to send both bodies backward and over the edge of the cliff. The two bodies tumbled back and down an icy, steep slope with the Pokémon still on top of the human. They tumbled and stumbled downhill, plunging towards the bottom like ragdolls, the fall getting rough with every foot they fell. The human shut his eyes and hoped for the best as he and the Ursaring hit the bottom of the slope, silent as snowfall.


	25. Chapter 25: Revenant

The Sharp Claw Pokémon rubbed her leg, easing enough pain to pick herself off the ground and slowly approached the edge of the cliff. There were large strips of shredded fabric and a bright red splotch where Jack was mauled. Going back a little bit showed red streaks in the snow, and then a sudden smear as both the hunter and the Ursaring slid down the side of the cliff, knocking down large clumps of snow with them in a miniature avalanche. Cleo peered over the edge, silent and awestruck at the scene below.

Jack's body was well hidden underneath the bronze body of the Ursaring, covered in a scattered layer of snow from the slope. She could make out a few darkened, crimson spots against the bronze fur from where the Hibernator Pokémon got shot. There was a larger one on the top of its head, blood slowly trailing out of the hole and down its face. No movement whatsoever came from below. Just a minute ago, the huntress saw the human companion hopelessly get torn apart from the Hibernator Pokémon. Now it and Jack slide down an icy slope, giving an eerie silence in the frozen wilderness deep in the north of Unova.

"[He couldn't have died. No, he couldn't have. No, impossible, no. No…!]"

The silence was broken when the Teddiursa cubs mewled behind Cleo and came to investigate what happened to her. They were perched on top of the cave, able to see the human and the mother Ursaring at the bottom of the slope. Little paws covered little mouths as the Little Bear Pokémon gazed down below at the gruesome scene before them. They naïvely mewled at the still mother Pokémon, not knowing what really happened.

[" _Mommy? Are you okay?_ "]

[" _Why are you down there?_ "]

[ _"Why is she not moving? And what was that sound?_ "]

[" _Maybe she just fell asleep._ "]

The Weavile craned her neck at the Teddiursa cubs. They took turns looking back at Cleo, shuddering at the nasty monster that was chasing them earlier. One dared to speak out to the Weavile,

["Do you know why our mommy is down there?"]

Cleo was furious at the cubs and what their mother did to her friend. They would not last long alone as orphans; they were not made for being independent and surviving away from parents or other caretakers compared to her. And that fact brought her slight, sick satisfaction at knowing that there will be other Pokémon that will have to deal with the hard-knock life she was given. On top of it, that there would be four less Ursaring in the world to challenge her or anything she held close, further feeding the superiority complex she hung onto even tighter after meeting the human. She lowered her head and gave a stern, frightening growl at the Teddiursa cubs while choking back tears and sniffles.

["See that down there?"]

The Teddiursa were more confused than afraid of the Weavile.

["But why is she down there and sleeping? Mommy, wake up. Mommy, please wake up!"]

Cleo got up and held back her tears and temper, lurching towards the Teddiursa with a sharp digit pointing at the gruesome scene below.

"That is what it looks like to lose. That's what it is like being _condemned_. And you're gonna feel it real hard, real soon for you and your mother being such stupid, pathetic, _inferior_ creatures."

Cleo could've given in to her instincts and eviscerated the Teddiursa cubs right then and there. But she didn't; they deserved a slow death from starvation or being preyed upon by a dozen other hungry Pokémon. All she could think about was Jack. The Weavile rejected anything hunch that Jack was dead. Jack was one the very few she met that was hospitable to her, and the only one that truly felt like a friend to her. He fed her, he played with her, and kept her clean. He saved her life when she was terribly ill and collapsed in the frozen wild, exposed to the elements. Collapsed and alone, leaving a visible trail for any hungry Pokémon to follow and rip her apart for being left for dead.

Him, dead? No, that could not be it. She hoped and prayed from the bottom of her heart that she was right. The Weavile peered over the edge again and ignored the Teddiursa, sobbing and wiping her face.

["They were wrong about what they said. You proved that to me. Thank you."]

She clenched her hands so terribly tight from stress that they drew blood from digging into her palms. There was always the chance that he would be alive; he had to be still alive, he _had_ to. The Weavile stood up and looked to her right, the path they came from. Her view panned down to the pair of footprints she and Jack made on the hike. They could only lead back to one place where Jack could survive in the end.

She got the grandest idea she ever had, and she would've bet her life that it would work.

["But this… I can't accept this. No… I _won't_ accept this! Please just hang on, Jack!"]

* * *

The Sharp Claw Pokémon ran as fast and as hard as she could to retrace the steps she and Jack made on the way to get here. It was time to return the favor.

Back at the cabin was Wilson Hotchkiss sitting at the dinner table with his signature Winchester 1897 shotgun. The hermit was cleaning it with a damp cloth, stroking the barrel up and down in every which way possible. He looked back at the gun cabinet housing so many of the guns he collected and stored, half of them never even had a single shot put through them. Then Wilson looked up at the cabin's beams, seeing all of the trophies of Pokémon he shot and brought to the taxidermist. Finally he looked at the one his grandson killed and recovered. He sighed and put his feet up on the table, talking to himself.

"That boy, using a Weavile of all things to hunt other Pokémon. What a wild boy he is, coming out here and hunting wild Pokémon with wild Pokémon. And yet, he nearly got himself lost in a blizzard when he went with that damn thing. It got him his trophy I guess, but, damn things always do more harm than good here. If I were out there with him that time, I wouldn't have gotten lost. Ugh, I know I should've gone with him, my fault for getting him wrapped up in this. What was I thinking letting him run off with that damn Pokémon? I know everything in a twenty-mile radius of this land. The boy doesn't, and he sure as hell can't speak the same language as that thing, cunning as it may be. I wonder where he is now? He should be coming back soon, and maybe he shot another Stantler or Sawsbuck. Should be returning from the same route he took…"

Wilson got up and stared out the window of his cabin, looking off at the patch of woods Jack and Cleo took for their third expedition. There was something amiss outside and seemed to be approaching the cabin, getting bigger as it came closer to view. The hermit squinted and saw a distinct dark object sprinting along the same path his grandson took. His face was pressed closer against the glass, gasping at getting a better view of what it was.

Cleo was desperately racing back to Wilson's cabin, faster and harder than she did when the Ursaring was chasing her. There would hopefully be that one fat human almost always inside the cabin. If she could just get to him and make him follow her, the wounded hunter may have a chance at survival. The Weavile fully ignored any soreness left in her leg and sped across the white landscape, heading right to the cabin door. When she arrived, she howled emphatically at the door, pounding and scratching on it to get Wilson's attention.

"[Open it! Please open it! Please I need your help!]"

Wilson bolted to the shotgun shells and loaded his gun up with four rounds after recognizing Cleo sprinting towards the cabin. Jack was not with her, and she never came to the cabin this fast, setting off every alarm in his head. Luckily for him, he was already in his hunting apparel, so he wasted no further time in answering the door.

Wilson Hotchkiss threw open the door, revealing a desperate Weavile at his doorstep. She looked up and madly cried at the burly outdoorsman in her native tongue with small tears glistening in her eyes.

"You!" Wilson called to Cleo, "Why are you here? Where the hell is Jack?"

"[Please come quickly! Jack is in trouble! Please follow me; we don't have much time!]" the Weavile beseeched in her native tongue. She backed up and motioned the hunter to follow her into the forest. Wilson knew something was totally wrong; why else would Jack have not have returned with the Weavile? There was only one way to find out as Wilson gripped his shotgun and braced it against his chest, following the Weavile.

The new pair followed in Jack's footsteps the same manner as when Cleo first set off with him. Into the cover of dead, glazed trees they went, entering the wild winter lands.

"Where is Jack? How far did he go?" called Wilson, getting no reply from the Weavile. Partway through the mad dash back to Jack, Wilson noticed odd Pokémon tracks in the snow that coincided perfectly with the route Cleo was leading him. It didn't take much for the grizzled outdoorsman to know that they were the tracks of a mother Ursaring with its Teddiursa cubs. The fact they coincided exactly with the same route Jack took that Wilson was following made his stomach churn. Wilson did not want to think about it too hard, for he got a good guess of what happened to his grandson.

"Jack… please tell me you're all right!"

* * *

How many wounds littered his body? He did not know. He hurt all over like he was thrown into a meat grinder. His entire head was sticky and dirty from blood running down a bloody slash on the side of his head, complete with a thick flab of muscle almost entirely peeled back from bone mixing with the snow. Numerous wounds of varying depth and size were strewn across his torso; each one was an opening for more blood to seep through and stain his clothes, skin, and ice underneath. They stung and ached all over from his flesh being torn. He felt fractured bones in his right hand complete with nasty lacerations, hardly able to feel it. The legs also had a fair share of wounds. It was hard to feel them, and he couldn't move any part of his body from the neck down. There was a winter coat on him, but it hardly did any good as there were even larger lacerations on it, exposing the carvings on his actual body. More numbing, relentless air and frost slipped inside his body.

There was something on top of him. Something big, heavy, and furry. It covered most of his body, mopping up excess blood that leaked through his torn coat and helping to keep him warm. It was almost like a thick winter blanket, extremely thick and difficult to move off him even if he had full control of his body. Everything was still, quiet, and somehow peaceful. What happened a minute before? He was being attacked from an Ursaring and he was just trying to defend himself. Next thing he recalls was the slope he and it tumbled down hard, plummeting who knows how many feet.

That's right. The Ursaring and the slope. He blew its brains out with the last round of his grandfather's revolver at the exact moment he and the Ursaring fell down the slope. Its lifeless body landed on top of his, giving him warmth and shelter at the cost of being even harder to draw breath from having a burly and unmoving Pokémon on him. The Ursaring was on top of him, but as dead as it could be. A magnum bullet plowed through its brain, and others punched through miscellaneous organs. There was no doubt that it happened, and no doubt that the Ursaring was deceased. Jack strained his neck up to look at the dead face of the mother Ursaring. Its eyes were closed, a snapshot of anger and pain.

The Hibernator Pokémon's mouth was open and stained sangre with periodic drops of blood and saliva dripping from its lower jaw and tongue. Dark red trickles of blood ran down its head from the bullet exiting its skull. No way could it survive that in addition to all the other gunshot wounds he gave it, which were making a few place on his body wetter than the rest. Speaking of, Jack didn't feel anything metallic or sturdy in his hands. The gun must've been knocked clean away from him as during the descent. Now he was totally disarmed.

Jack Hotchkiss stared up at the sky. Wasn't it clear not long ago? And now there are black clouds moving in, large enough to swallow up the sun. It seemed like snow clouds and precipitation were on their way, as usual. Earlier, the heavens were not as dark. Such things indicate the passage of time. How long did it take for this whole incident to play out? Seconds seemed like minutes and minutes seemed like hours of endless tedium. What about the Weavile? Where was she? She was the one that led him here to begin with, yet she was the one that saved his life before. What was its name, the name of the one that led him in and out of conflict since they met?

Off in the distance were concerned, sad whimpers of the Ursaring's cubs. They slowly worked their way down to get closer to their passed mother, investigating what happened. They did not fully figure out the Weavile's words, nor did they understand what happened to their mother and its cruel implications. They wandered closer on their cold limbs, terrified at seeing their mother not moving a muscle on top of the foreign invader.

They began to climb on top of their mother's body, poking and prodding to wake her up to no avail. Jack muffled his breathing and remained just as motionless underneath the warm body. The Teddiursa were ultimately harmless, but did not want to know he was there and make them aware of his presence. Slowing down his breathing and not moving even his neck helped to conserve energy, and he needed every last ounce of life to make it. All the human could do was sit and stare at the darkening, hazy sky.

He was afraid. It was okay for him to be afraid. His Weavile companion was nowhere to be seen or heard, he was helplessly pinned underneath the dead Ursaring, and was bleeding out in the snow in the face of an imminent snowstorm, all alone from any friends or relatives. Thoughts of dying slipped into his mind. Would Wilson forget? Did the Weavile forget and abandon him? Would anybody remember him?

Suddenly, he did not hurt as much anymore. He reasoned it would be like sleeping. The bloody, torn up body was getting numb. And he felt… warmer? Was it a placebo effect from his body to control itself? Was he really knocking on death's door? Just a second ago he was in chilling agony, and now he was getting warmer? Each passing second made him drowsier than before. Drowsy…drowsy…drowsy. His head tilted off to the left, making his vision darker and, not because of the clouds. His overall senses waned. If he had to die, this was not so bad, he reasoned. All the pain started to vanish to make room for peaceful passing. It would feel like a comfortable, warm sleep during a bitter winter night. And now… was something getting brighter out of nowhere? Was that thing always there?

A light? Was it getting closer and brighter, and should it? The human was where he was, pinned underneath a large Pokémon, was he not? And now a sound was accompanying the light. It was a high pitched and soothing song sung specifically to him. Was it a sweet voice of an angel? No, it couldn't be an angel. It was getting louder and more boisterous. A whole choir of angels sung out to him. The light turned into a brilliant red glow as the surroundings darkened even further. The choir was madly drumming into his ears just as his eyes closed to only focus on the gorgeous red light sticking out against the dark backdrop, capable of making the richest rubies and red velvet envious…

* * *

The Sharp Claw Pokémon took a short detour and followed a gradually downward incline, a much more gentle descent to make Jack's elevation. She continued to lead the veteran hunter to the site of action, every second against her. Off in the distance was a signaling bronze and crimson mound contrasting with the white backdrop. A few independent brown figures, similar to the one she saw yesterday, were bouncing up and down on it. She turned towards Wilson and pointed at the mass up ahead.

"[There! There! Hurry!]"

Wilson saw the object off the distance and had his jaw drop. It must have been his grandson, Jack Hotchiss. There was no other explanation for it!

"Jack!" called Wilson. He sprinted ahead with dismay and disbelief, hoping that his grandson was all right. He saw the four Teddiursa cubs on top of the dead Ursaring, startled by the Weavile returning with another mysterious, massive monster.

"You! Shoo, shoo! Get off!" screamed the grandfather at the cubs, making them disperse and flee, leaving just the Ursaring with Jack. Its mouth was bloody with multiple other red marks, showing off its fatal wounds. Wilson saw Jack's face tilted onto the ground and emptily looking in his direction with closed eyes. The grandfather gasped and threw his shotgun to the ground, traumatized at seeing his grandson's bloody face.

"No…"

Wilson Hotchkiss knelt alongside his grandson and cradled Jack's head in his arm, starting to uncontrollably sob. He swallowed and put and ear to his mouth, hearing dead-silent and waning breaths from Jack. Wilson couldn't tell what was worse, the fact Jack was not breathing, or he still was and was about to stop soon if he did not get immediate assistance. Cleo looked around and placed a claw on Jack's bloody forehead, near the greatest wound the Ursaring inflicted. She lamented with Wilson in silence for just a second. The grizzled veteran looked at the slope Jack and the Ursaring was at, and then the top of the dead Pokémon's skull. There was a hole about half an inch in diameter expanding outward. No other entry points were found on the head, though the mouth was quite bloody. It gave Wilson an anecdote of the Hibernator Pokémon's last struggles against his grandson.

"He…He couldn't have…"

Wilson lowered Jack's head and vigorously rolled the body off of his grandson, a laborious and critical task he managed to succeed at. With Jack free from the Ursaring, his harrowed body and coat was revealed to Wilson and the Weavile. They recoiled at the gashes and lacerations through the torn coat; ugly splotches of red frayed fabrics adorned the openings. It did not matter that Jack's rifle or Wilson's revolver was missing. All the outdoorsman cared about was getting his grandson out of here and to some place safe. Wilson shot a glance at his shotgun lying in the snow, cursing himself for bringing it with him. He turned towards the Weavile over the bloody body.

"You! Carry that!" he ordered the Weavile as he pointed a thick finger at his shotgun. The Sharp Claw Pokémon heeded the order and carried the substantial gun upside down, one claw on its stock and the other clenched around the barrel, careful not to accidentally shoot it through her awkward hold. Wilson scooped Jack Hotchkiss into his arms, cradling his grandson. Jack was barely alive and breathing, but unconscious from the pain and blood loss. Fresh snow and biting gusts were coming down on the trio.

"Hang in there! We'll get you out of here!"

Wilson and Cleo sprinted out of the wilderness and back to the cabin, fighting against the lack of breath and exhaustion for the sake of Jack. They soldiered on in the high snow on the ground and intensifying snowfall above; they grew tired and heartbroken but preserved all for Jack Hotchkiss. They broke through the tree line and returned to Wilson's cabin, looping around to his vehicle.

Wilson opened the passenger door and placed Jack in the passenger seat. Cleo had enough of lugging around the shotgun and dropped it a dozen feet from the truck's door, a problem nowhere near Wilson's mind. The grandfather turned around at the Weavile approaching the car door, not wanting to be separated from Jack. Wilson grunted and held it open for Cleo to jump into and sit at Jack's feet on the mat, safely tucked inside the truck. Wilson slammed the door shut, picked up his shotgun and went inside to trade it for his keys. He exited just as fast and barreled into the truck, started it up, and floored the pedal to drive Jack to the nearest hospital. They arrived and Wilson carried Jack in his arms once more, hustling to the front door with Cleo hot on his heels. Once inside, Wilson made a beeline to the emergency room.

"It's okay Jack, it's okay! You're gonna be safe now!"

* * *

A month passed since Jack Hotchkiss was brought to the hospital, sitting in one of its beds. If it were not for Cleo and Wilson finding him and bringing him back to civilization, he would have perished out in the wild. He could feel countless stitches, staples, and bandages all over his torn body, and there would still be plenty more to be added. The wide gash on his head was closed up as much as possible, getting the most stitches and staples. He still felt fragile and hollow, but most of the pain faded away. The doctors did a marvelous job at closing and cleaning his wounds, and Wilson should've been given a medal for carrying him through who knows how many feet of frozen land back to the cabin. His recovery was far from over, however.

Jack stared at his feet hidden under the sheets, replaying the nightmare again and again and again. He never imagined that he would get mauled by an Ursaring, let alone survive it. Those roars, those teeth, those…injuries it inflicted on him. He would never forget such a nightmare in broad daylight. Flashbacks of following the Pokémon tracks to the cave and ultimately to the protective mother's wrath perpetually replayed. His eyes went to the hospital ceiling, substituting it for the dark clouds that appeared as he was pinned underneath the Ursaring. Jack's left hand patted his left hip, reaching for a firearm that was not there. Instead, there was only soft fabric over him, fabric that would have been obliterated in the paws and jaws of the Ursaring. The same paws and jaws carving in permanent scars, mentally and physically.

Jack's flashbacks were broken when an Audino and Reuniclus came into the room to tend to the young man. The Audino cooed and placed one of its ear extensions onto Jack's heart as the Reuniclus placed one of its green arms over his forehead. It pumped soothing psychic energy into Jack's conscious and rubbed a little of its goo on the side of his head, assimilating into the closed wound to give it regenerative reinforcement. Jack grew calm, thanking the Pokémon for coming in and pacifying him. The Audino gave the clear to pull back and give a courtesy bow for tending to Jack in the bed. He wondered how long he would be stuck here.

Jack overheard a human nurse chatting with somebody outside the room, curious as to who it was. The nurse nodded and stepped aside, letting in a short man in a black suit and bowler hat holding a notebook and pen. He smiled at Jack lying in bed, clicking his pen.

"Ah, you must be Mister Hotchkiss," said the mysterious man as he stood by Jack's side. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, but who are you?" replied Jack. The man gave another smile and explained himself.

"I'm a journalist, you see. I heard that you survived an attack from an Ursaring. You know, the nice lady outside said that a boy like you surviving such an encounter is frankly unheard of. And you said you've only been out there for a short amount of time, which is even more amazing!"

Jack blushed a little at the stranger's compliment.

"Really? I shouldn't be surprised, but…"

The stranger cut him off, saying "Indeed! So, I was told you have a little free time today. If you don't mind, I would love to hear your story, your own account of what happened. Stuff like this is big news and big money!"

"And what's in it for me?"

The stranger cleared his throat and pulled up a chair, sitting on nearly the same level as Jack.

"Well, you can get your name out in the world that you survived an Ursaring attack, something many people your age could not. As for the money, I proposed to my boss that I could split whatever earnings this story would nab three ways. A third for the company I work for, a third for me, and a third for you and your relatives. All you have to do is answer a few questions and tell the story from your eyes. What do you say?"

Jack looked at the man with widened eyes. He weighed the option of accepting the offer and telling the story or declining. The extra money would be extra useful in paying off the hospital bills, and other people around Unova could hear his story. Having his family name get spread across Unova as a name of temperance and survival was also quite alluring. Jack sat up and was about to accept the proposal when he got more guests.

This time, Wilson and Cleo entered the hospital room, immediately eyeing the suited man sitting next to Jack.

"Hey, what's going on here?" asked Wilson to the journalist.

"Ah! You must be his father, or grandfather!" replied the journalist. "I was just about to have your son tell me his story of the Ursaring attack so I could publish a report on it and sell it. I already explained you'd get a third of the profits on top of having your name get reached to all in Unova. Is that okay, mister Hotchkiss? And what a Pokémon you have!"

Wilson crossed his arms and stood over the foot of Jack's bed with Cleo skittering up and licking Jack's face warmly. The tongue of the Sharp Claw Pokémon soothed Jack far more than the nurses' efforts. He giggled at Cleo licking his face, glad to see her again.

"She's my Pokémon, actually," Jack answered to the journalist. "I can tell you everything that happened. Ready?"

The journalist opened his notebook and was ready to jot down whatever Jack said to make his story.

"Go ahead."

Jack Hotchkiss told the story of that dreadful day, starting from when he woke up to the last moments of consciousness in the ice. He painted a full picture of what happened, down to the feeling of being overpowered by the Hibernator Pokémon and how he was rescued. It gave the journalist everything he wanted and more, a brisk tale of adventure, ending with a horrifying encounter the young man survive to spread the word about. It felt good to Jack actually talking out what happened, and knowing that it will be told to other people as well. He closed on how Wilson rescued him from the brink of death after Cleo went back and alerted him, and how he was hoping for a wondrous recovery.

"Perfect!" announced the journalist as he finished down writing several pages of information from Jack's encounter. "Thank you very much, mister Hotchkiss. I hope you get well soon!" The man held out his left hand, allowing Jack to weakly shake it to end the interview. The man in the black suit walked out of the hospital, leaving Jack alone with Wilson and Cleo.

"Man I thought he'd never leave…" spoke Jack as he turned towards Wilson. The grandfather figure rubbed the back of his neck as Jack just now noticed a small white package held by Wilson.

"Is that a present?"

Wilson cleared his throat and avoided the question, hanging his head low.

"I'm sorry for this, Jack. I really should've taken stricter action for your own safety. It's my fault for knowing how dangerous it is out there and letting you wander around with that Weavile. The doctors said this stuff takes a while. The nurse outside said you'll be getting out in six months if you're lucky. I'm really sorry for bringing this upon you."

Jack felt the sadness in his grandfather's voice. He spoke up against him,

"I don't think you're to blame for this. If you went with me that day instead of Cleo, and it attacked you, you would've died on the spot, no doubt about it. And who knows, even if you tagged with Cleo or me and I took a different path, we still might've ran into trouble with the Ursaring. Critters are sneaky anyway, and not all of them are hibernating in the winter time. Really, though, Cleo's the one that saved me. She managed to get it off me and hold it off long enough so I get that magnum ready to shoot it. It got knocked out of my holster, you know. And she's the one that went back to get you to come and rescue me."

"True," responded Wilson, "but still… I can't help but feel bad for you. The nurses said that people your age do not often survive attacks against those Pokémon. You're very lucky it didn't go for your throat or jugular, or stab you in the brain from that head injury. And that Weavile… maybe they're not sure bad after all."

Jack smiled at seeing Wilson starting to come to terms with the Sharp Claw Pokémon. Wilson rubbed his face and sighed, continuing his speech.

"I already pawned off about half my guns to help cover the hospital bills, mostly the ones that I never shot, and some I hate to depart with'im. I never did find your rifle or my revolver out there, but don't worry about that. I brought back something else for you."

Wilson handed over the strange white package to Jack. He pressed down with his thumbs and shook it around, unable to get any hint as to what it might be.

"What is it?" asked Jack.

"Open it and see for yourself," replied Wilson

Jack gulped and carefully tore open the package, going through layers of tightly wrapped paper to get to the center. Underneath the paper was the Stantler head on the plaque that was previously mounted inside the cabin.

"It's the Stantler I shot!"

He gasped when he fully unraveled it.

It was a massive Ursaring paw with all of its claws intact, severed three inches below the base of the appendages. It had all of its thick, rough bronze fur and the tips of the claw were as sharp as ever. Jack nearly had a panic attack at the fact he was holding one of the Ursaring's paws in his hands. He looked back up at his grandfather, stuttering in trying to thank him.

"To be honest, I thought you were a goner," spoke Wilson with a somber, sober face. "But still, a boy your age and experience out there surviving an attack like this? Not something you hear every day. You'd be a legend back in the day, having your name talked by other settlers over a flickering campfire. Here, if that journalist keeps his word, same sort of thing in the modern age. Maybe you've got a true drive for hunting inside you, which is more than enough to change a boy into a man. You are a true fighter."

Jack nodded at his grandfather with at the beautiful compliment, and turned towards the Weavile at his side. She was smiling and purring loudly at him for knowing that he was alive. Small, beady tears pooled in his eyes at seeing the Sharp Claw Pokémon at his side, directly responsible for his life as he was to hers. Jack Hotchkiss started to sniffle as he lightly stroked the Weavile's forehead and gave a genuine,

"Thank you."

* * *

Two years passed since Jack Hotchkiss was mauled by that Ursaring, forever changing him. He made a miraculous full recovery from the wounds and bore the memories left behind on his skin. Wounds that would never leave him in the form of scars; scars that told a tale far more captivating than any words could. Jack became much more solemn as there was not a day that passed by without him thinking about that mauling. Skill, experience, and wisdom came to Jack as he aged, enrichening his respect and understanding for the natural world and its gifts all around him. He purchased another firearm perfectly suited to hunting with a large cache of ammo for it, practicing his aim in preparation for his next big break coming around next winter. The hunter decided to keep his bristly black beard, allowing it grow and flourish as a symbol of his rugged adulthood and love for the outdoors. It was a holdover from his first true hunting experience that molded him into a perfect man in the eyes of his grandfather and of the others so passionate about their timeless connection with nature.

The same is said for Cleo, his Weavile companion. She truly grew and matured from being the lowly Sneasel runt that was the brunt of all bullying, harassment, and abuse from her peers, to being a perfect predator. Her skills and senses sharpened even further and mastered her predatory tempers and instincts, becoming even more dangerous. Her time in the wild and at the hunter's side molded her into an indomitable huntress, sustaining her own enrichment and complimenting the human's own set of talents. To think that she would have never acquired the courage to step up and act out, proving her pack wrong about her capabilities; to think that the huntress would have never crossed paths with the hunter and become mutually beneficial to each other. The two have remained close to each other ever since, never daring to stray far from one another.

Both of them anxiously waited for that special day to come, where open season would be declared. The day where temperatures would drop far below zero and coax out the largest game with the most brazen hunters all of Unova had to offer. In the meantime, both of them conducted fierce training and research, hardening their bodies and minds that went soft from the summer to prepare for the next winter season. They knew that the satisfaction of engaging in one of the oldest acts of humans and Pokémon alike was unmatched.

When that day came, Jack and Cleo set out to the same cabin in the untamed countryside as before, ready to begin another hunting expedition.

Just like old times.


End file.
